


Combined Operations

by FivePips



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - World War II, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Soldier!John, Soldiers, WWII, World War II, soldier!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 53,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FivePips/pseuds/FivePips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes joined the The British 7th Armoured Division on the eve of d-day for Operation Overlord. He was put with 5th Royal Tank Regiment on a crew commanded by Corporal John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gup

**Author's Note:**

> Oddly enough I came up with the inspiration to write this while watching an episode of Queer As Folk sometime ago. Michael was at brunch with his boyfriend and an older couple. The older couple had met during WWII and they were talking about how much sex that was being had amongst the soldiers. For some reason my mind went “ohhhhh you need to write this fic now”. So that night started working it out. But no this is not smut or PWP, there is a plot with a little porn. The research for this is a bit overwhelming because there are so many freaking sources (if you actually have any good source or random facts I'll take those too). If you see anything that you think is glaringly wrong or just not right with the period let me know because it is currently unbetaed. Feedback of any kind is always lovely!
> 
> Also, this story is inspired by the real 5th Royal Tank Regiment. I’ll be posting some links about them in future chapters. I’ll be trying to follow their route from the beaches of Normandy to the fall of Hamburg.
> 
>  **Some Terms To Know for This Chapter:**  
>  Combined Operations: British military slang for a love affair.  
> Rooky: New recruit  
> Gup: Gossip  
> Griff: Reliable information  
> Munga: Food  
> Igri: Arab word for hurry up  
> The Tiger: German tank  
> The Honey: Tank used by the 5th RTR in Africa and Italy
> 
> Most of these terms and definitions come from the book “FUBAR: Soldier Slang of World War II by Gordon. L. Rottman”. I hope that I put the terms into correct use. The others, especially words for certain weaponry come from a bit of research from around the web and some random knowledge I have stuck in my head from history courses.

**06:30 20th April, 1944. Shaker’s Wood, Norfolk, England**  
  
John was starting to itch to return to battle. He understood the training and the new weaponry was important but three months at Shaker’s Woods in Norfolk seemed like a bit too much. If it went on any longer he would certainly go completely barmy. The Brass said that it was in preparation for a big battle. What? Where? When? He wasn’t too sure yet but it was most likely France and hopefully very soon.  
  
“Oi! Doc!” John looked over his shoulder to see Greg Lestrade jogging over to him as he exited the barracks.   
  
He needed breakfast, tea, and a fag before the day started.   
  
“Er, I mean, ‘morning Corporal Watson. All right?”  
  
He laughed at Greg’s correction because it was unnecessary for him at the moment. “All right, Private. Why are you about to bite off your arm?” He questioned the man with a slight smile.  
  
“‘Cromwells are in.” Lestrade was practically vibrating out of his skin as they walked.  
  
“Jolly good, you better not be having me on.” John shook his head in disbelief. They were supposed to come in at the end of February but like everything else in the sodding war, they got delayed.  
  
“I am not. It’s a miracle.”  
  
“We’re supposed to be training on new weaponry and we’ve been waiting for this for ages. You’d assume they’d want us prepared.”  
  
“Prepared? You remember where we are, right?”  
  
John rolled his eyes at the man, "Anything else?"  
  
“Rumor has it that we’ve got a rooky in our midst.”  
  
“You’ve lots of gup this morning, Lestrade. Any griff on the rooky?” John drew up an eye brow.  
  
“Cruise saw him this morning when we were washing up. He’s apparently posh. Heard he’s related to some bigwig in London. I’m not positive who yet.” He explained as they entered the mess.  
  
“Well, I think that’s him.” John nodded in the direction of a tall, young bloke chatting with John’s CO.  
  
The kid stood as tall as and as skinny as a flagpole in his new uniform. Dark brown, newly trimmed hair peaked out from under his black beret.  
  
“Watson!” Captain Nichols shouted, turning a few heads in the mess.  
  
“Yes, sir.” He joined the two men, leaving Greg to go retrieve whatever the kitchen was offering.  
  
“At ease, Corporal. This is Private Holmes, he’ll be joining you and your crew in maneuvers this morning. I’ll leave you to it then, have a good breakfast, gentlemen.” Nichols dismissed himself, leaving John standing next to Holmes.  
  
If Lestrade was right then Private Holmes was related to Churchill’s number two man, Siger Holmes. That sat odd in John’s head because he felt as if he had to keep the kid alive or there would be hell to pay.  
  
“Have you ate?”  
  
“No, I’d rather not either.” Sherlock screwed up his nose as he eyed another lad’s tray.  
  
John took a moment to appreciate Holmes’ eyes. They were both different combinations of blue, green, and gold. He felt mesmerized.  
  
He shook himself out of whatever that was, “Come on, have some munga. I know it looks completely unappetizing but we need fuel. Also, heaven knows when the next hot meal could be.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t say a word as he followed behind John.  
  
“Did you get lost this morning, Watson?” Bill Murray let the two men behind him cut so he could stand with John.  
  
“You know I’m lousy with direction.”  
  
“Commander, you’ll scare the boy. He’ll think we’ll get lost out there.” Bill stuck his hand out to Sherlock, who looked at it as if he didn’t know what to do. “Lance Corporal Bill Murray. The team might call me Dust, long story from Africa. Don’t look so scared, Watson’s a damn fine navigator.”  
  
Sherlock finally gripped Bill’s hand, “Sherlock Holmes, I’m not scared.”  
  
“Ah, one of those, are you? You’ll fit right in.” Bill sized him up then recognition sparked in his eyes, “Holmes? What the bloody hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be doing something cushy?”  
  
“Murray.” John said warningly as he picked up a tray.  
  
“It’s as if you’re not wondering the same thing...”  
  
“I am but maybe I’m waiting until we join the others so he doesn’t have to repeat himself.”  
  
Sherlock’s mouth quirked into a smile quickly but his expression went back to neutral.  
  
“Did you hear the Cromwells are in?”  
  
“Brilliant!” Murray exclaimed. “I’m sure Greg’s itching to drive.”  
  
“More beans.” John sighed, looking down at his tray after the cook scooped them in. “I used to love beans with a good fry up in the morning. I think when this is all done I’ll never want any more.”  
  
“When you get back, you’ll be moaning for a fry up. Beans included.”  
  
They made their way over to where Lestrade was sitting with Charles Dimmock, “Private Holmes, this is the rest of your crew.”  
  
“Best one in the business.” Murray took a seat next to Lestrade and John sat across from them, to the right of Dimmock and Holmes next to him. “This is Private Greg Lestrade and Private Charles Dimmock.”  
  
“So, Private Holmes —“  
  
“Yes, I am related to that Holmes. Yes, I could have been in a cushy position as Lance Corporal Murray said earlier but I’ve never been one to listen to my father. Yes, I am doing this to spite him. No, I do not expect any special treatment.” Sherlock’s plummy tone took John by surprise. The bloke sounded as if he had been fielding those questions for some time.  
  
Everyone was quiet for a moment until Lestrade replied, “We’re not in the business of special treatment, mate. You don’t have to worry about that.”  
  
“So, Holmes, how old are you? You look a wee lad.” Dimmock craned his neck around John to look at him.  
  
“Dim, you’re barely eighteen.”  
  
“Nineteen!” Charles defended himself against Bill.  
  
“I’m Nineteen as well.” Holmes said.  
  
“You’re parents must have had a fit that you didn’t finish University.”  
  
Sherlock just shrugged, “I’m old enough to choose what I want.”  
  
“Sure they didn’t see it that way.” John said over the cup of tea.  
  
Sherlock just pushed the beans around his tray then opted to pick at his toast.  
  
“You really should eat.” He pointed at Sherlock’s tray with his fork.  
  
“Do you pester everyone else about what they eat?”  
  
“John concerns himself with everyone’s health.” Bill gave him a pointed look. “We call him Doc.”  
  
“That and the fact that he was going to go to medical school before he enlisted.” Sherlock said, looking down at his food.  
  
“How’d you know that?”  
  
“Easy enough.”  
  
“Probably had intel on us before he got here.” Lestrade spoke with a mouth full.  
  
“Nope.” Sherlock emphasized the ‘p’.  
  
“Cheeky bastard, aren’t you?”  
  
Holmes shrugged.  
  
John laughed, thinking about how Sherlock was going to be an interesting addition to the team. Granted, the man was probably a handful but so wasn’t the rest of the group.

***

Following instruction John walked over to his newly assigned tank and let out a low whistle, feigning excitement. “Here she is, boys.”  
  
“Why is it that men refer to their machinery with female pronouns? I’ve yet to figure it out.” Private Holmes wondered out loud.  
  
“Dunno, it’s just the done thing, isn’t it?” Dim said as they took a turn around the vehicle.  
  
“This is bloody terrible.” John eyed the tank with a frown. It wasn’t the miracle machine that they were promised. No one knew what the hell they were doing in production. “The armor is flat on to the enemy. Shells are going to sit on top of the sodding thing.”  
  
“The 75’s  not going to do a thing against the 88 on the anti-tank gun and that shite on the Tiger. Thought this was going to better. They didn’t listen to a thing we said about the Honey or any of our other failed tanks.” Bill complained  
  
John climbed atop the tank and looked inside, “Fucking dimwits… whoever built this never fought in battle, I’m assuming. Its back to the tiny hatches. How are we going to get out of these if we have to igri?” He wiggled into his space.    
  
“These vision blocks are shite.” John kicked the inside wall of his cramped space. “I guess I don’t need to see to tell you lads where to go and what to do.”  
  
“Igri?” John heard Private Holmes ask.  
  
“Arab for hurry, Ox.” Lestrade had taken to calling Sherlock Ox because he was going to Oxford before joining up. When he did it the first time over breakfast Sherlock had a very pained expression on his face.  
  
“I figured but it’s interesting you use Arabic. I didn’t realized that the words would make its way into your vernacular.” He explained as they all joined John, exploring the inside of the tank.  
  
“I don’t understand where you’re going to bloody fit, Holmes.” Bill said as they got into the hull. “You have too many limbs to be in here.”  
  
“This will be the death of me.” John groaned. His voice rattled off the metal of the tank.

***

After the normal drone of the day (checks, training, admin, PT, random tedious duties, and dinner) John was hiding behind the garage. He always needed to have some time to himself at the end of the night. He didn’t have a problem with anyone but he always liked his space to do a little introspection or reflect on the day.  
  
What he was mostly thinking about was Sherlock Holmes. The bloke was working out well, he was competent… actually he was beyond competent. John could not understand why he was wasting a brain. The man was going to the front lines when there were positions for brilliant lads like him else where. He probably should have been code breaking.  
  
But he wasn’t going to complain about Sherlock being there for a minute. The man was easy on the eyes and interesting. John knew that spending time with him was going to be a mental exercise a long with a pleasure.  
  
“Do you hide out here all the time?” Sherlock’s deep voice startled John.  
  
“Only every so often.” John looked up at the stars, hitting his head against the building.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I was having some time to myself.”  
  
“Sorry to interrupt,” He said but he continued to move closer to John.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Sherlock stood next to John, “Taking a walk, I like knowing my surroundings.”  
  
“That will make you a good soldier.”  
  
“Mmm,” He kicked at the dirt on his shoes.  
  
“How did you know I wanted to be a doctor?”  
  
“To begin with, I know you wanted to be one and you are not one because you are 24 and also an NCO. You’ve been in the army since you were eighteen, leaving you no time at all to go to university.  
  
“You have the potential to be a very good doctor. You are caring, considerate, not a complete idiot, and interested in medicine. When they call you Doc, you look a bit sad. That’s probably because you are not one.  
  
“I also passed your bunk when I was given the walk through this morning. You had a medical journal sticking out of your bag. Most people who are not doctors do not read medical journals in their free time.”  
  
“You saw that?” John chuckled, fixing eyes on Sherlock. “You’re very observant.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And modest.”  
  
“Hardly.”  
  
“What else do you know about me?” He asked.  
  
“You don’t get on with your family. The rest of the men have pretty much told me about their backgrounds, most of which I could deduce —“  
  
“Deduce?” John interrupted him.  
  
“Yes, it’s about observing. Most people see but they don’t observe. If you look close enough at a person, their whole life is there for you to see.”  
  
“Um, ok.”  
  
“Its simple enough, most people don’t think.”  
  
“You’re in the wrong place, mate.”  
  
Sherlock cocked his eyebrow.  
  
“You know how many people are dying in this war?”  
  
“Of course I do.”  
  
“Why are you putting yourself right in the line of fire when you could be using that big brain?”  
  
“I’ve always hated my lifestyle, how I grew up. My parents wouldn’t listen to my protests of going to Harrow and Oxford so one day I just enlisted. Mummy and Father had a nutty but my brother talked them out of it, saying that I was doing the right the for my country. He said that I would be best be used somewhere else but by the time they found out what I was doing I was in basic and it was too late.”  
  
“So this is just some teenage rebellion.” John blurted. He disliked when he spoke without thinking at times.  
  
“Apparently so.” Sherlock’s smile sent a shiver down his spine for some reason.  
  
John cleared his throat, “Back to knowing about my family?”  
  
“As I was saying, the rest of the men have given their family life to me today. You for the most part were silent, aside from throwing in a comment here or there. I’m assuming relations are strained.”  
  
“You really have no idea.” He confirmed as Sherlock reached for his cigarettes.  
  
“I guess I really do not.” The Private held open his silver cigarette case. “Fag?”  
  
“Sure.” John plucked one out then dug this lighter out of his pocket. “Light?”  
  
“Please.” Sherlock leaned in far too close to John but he didn’t say a word as he flicked the wheel on the lighter and lit his cigarette. “Thank You.” He leaned back just a bit and blew smoke to his side.  
  
“Ah, not a problem.” John lit his own cigarette then tucked his lighter away.  
  
Silently they smoked for a few minutes. He found himself watching Sherlock’s lips wrapping around the cigarette a bit too close. They were plump and looked soft and warm.  
  
“You shouldn’t be ashamed, I’ve been told that they’re very kissable.” Sherlock surprised him once again.  
  
“What?” John’s eyes darted up to Sherlock’s unearthly blue ones.  
  
“My lips, you’re watching them. You’re watching them much like you’ve watched me the whole day.”  
  
“What?” He repeated himself because he didn’t know what to say.  
  
“Its fine.”  
  
“Private Holmes, what you’re insinuating—”  
  
“So you don’t want to kiss me?”  
  
John opened and closed his mouth as he searched for words. “This is completely out of line, I’ll have you know.”  
  
“It would be if you didn’t want me as much as I want you. I saw it today when you were looking into my eyes in the mess. Then your glances lingered on me all day. They were not noticeable to most but of course I saw them.” Sherlock flicked the ash to the ground. “You can, if you want, kiss them. I wouldn’t terribly mind.”  
  
“What you are saying highly inappropriate.” John pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
“I know that.”  
  
It wasn’t as if he had not done this with anyone else. Bill and he had shagged on more than one occasion. After Bill there had been James. He also knew that Lestrade and Dimmock were getting together whenever there was a free moment. But Sherlock looked too fresh faced and naive. Sure, he was smart but he barely knew the world.  
  
“You really want me to?”  
  
Sherlock grinned and dipped his head down, leaving enough room for John to still back out.  
  
“You’re trouble.” He tossed his cigarette and Sherlock did the same.  
  
“I’m fairly certain that you like trouble.”  
  
John closed the distance between them with a crushing kiss. Sherlock lips were just as plush as he would have thought, if not more.  
  
Using his weight, John pushed Sherlock against the building and continued the attack on his lips. Sherlock bent his knees to make up for the height difference.   
  
John bit at the bottom one before laving at it with his tongue. Sherlock then teased at John’s tongue as his hands moved over John’s chest and to his back, pulling him flush against him.  
  
“You’re mad.” He gasped when they broke apart.  
  
“You’ve no idea how mad.” Sherlock growled against John’s neck.  
  
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” John panted before nipping at Sherlock’s jaw.  
  
“You need to work on, fucking hell, on doing what you say.”  
  
John ground his hips against Sherlock, “Yes, I’m rubbish at it.”  
  
From the other side of the building John heard some shouting. He quickly backed away from Sherlock and looked around, making sure no one saw.  
  
“Do you know anywhere a bit more private?” Sherlock brushed a hand over his uniform  
  
“It’s probably not the best idea, Sherlock.”  
  
He frowned, “Very well then. I’ll see ‘round Watson.”  
  
Once again, John found himself alone and thinking about Sherlock Holmes. This was probably not good.

***

The next day after admin John went for a run with Bill, “Holmes’ has eyes for you.”  
  
“Bugger off, mate.”  
  
“He’s a looker.”  
  
“He’s friggin guileless.”  
  
“Just because he’s not marked by the terrors of battle, doesn’t mean you can’t shag him.”  
  
He shot the Lance Corporal a glare because this was not the time or the place.  
  
“I can tell when you want someone, Watson. I saw you look at me that way a couple of times myself.” Bill nudged an elbow at John. “You haven’t slept with anyone since —”  
  
“Don’t, Bill.” John shook his head, coming to a stop. They had not talked about James for the longest time, they certainly were not going to do it now.  
  
“We’ve all lost people we cared about in this war.” Murray joined him.  
  
“I know that’s why we don’t have to talk about it.” John fixed him with a look before jogging in the other direction for the showers.  
  
“You don’t have to care about him to get sleep with him.” He heard him yell after him.  
  
John just pressed his lips together, trying not to think about anything aside from a good wash.


	2. Spare Wank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes pays a visit to his brother in a last ditch effort to keep him off the lines. A few nights later the lads receive their mission and Sherlock and John share another cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Terms to Know:**  
>  Spare Wank: or spare file, is an individual without any specified duties  
> The Filthy Five: A real nickname for the 5th RTR. I highly suggest this doc ([Part 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOr6tL2vcZM) & Part 2) from BBC on the regiment  
> Horizontal R&R: Or sex, according to the documentary above this was something that high command found important and in Africa they had prostitutes in the brothels the men frequented checked for STDs. They also provided condoms.

**14:00 30th May, 1944. Shaker’s Wood, Norfolk, England**  
  
Sherlock loathed nearly everything about the army. He could not stand the fact that he had to wear regulation clothing every single day. He hated the fact that every moment of his day was scheduled. The only upside to that was he had to be constantly doing something even if it was tedious and kept his black moods at bay for the most part. Finally, everyone he had come across was stupid and slow. God, or whatever else you believe in, help the United Kingdom if this is what they were putting their hope into.  
  
He limited his time with the regiment, as much as he could, because they were so stupid. He knew they looked at him odd because he didn’t fit in. Sherlock never fit in anywhere so it wasn’t as if this was anything new. For some reason it was easier to get through the days with them than it was in Harrow or his little time at Oxford with those chaps.  
  
That may be because of John Watson and surprisingly the rest of his tank crew. Charles Dimmock, or as he was called Dim, was not bright at all. He lived up to his nickname but he was… pleasant to Sherlock. The dimness made him easy to deal with and he never made fun of Sherlock’s freakish smarts. He was from somewhere to the North. Sherlock wasn’t exactly sure where. He probably told him but he couldn’t remember. He was the front gunner, a very good shot. Dimmock was almost 20 and had joined the 5th RTR in Italy.  
  
Greg Lestrade was not nearly as stupid as Dimmock but still not very smart. He wanted to be a detective when the war ended. Sherlock had yet to tell him his interest in criminal investigation but he was sure Lestrade was going to be very excited about their common interest. He grew up outside of Manchester and was a fan of playing rugby and football, like the rest of the regiment. He was 20 and spent a little time with the regiment in Africa. Lestrade seemed to be a skilled driver of the tank.  
  
Bill Murray grew up in Scotland, like John, outside of Glasgow. The two were best mates and spent the most time in Africa. Bill was called Dust because he somehow woke up covered in sand one morning during the desert campaign. Bill was second in command in the tank and the gunner.  
  
None of the men blatantly hated Sherlock and never made fun of him. They did try to get him involved in being apart of the group but he usually resisted. They usually just marveled at him when he was clever and when he was a jerk they’d just call him a dick or laugh. There was no cruelty or cutting remarks behind his back that he normally experienced from his schoolmates.  
  
Then there was John Watson. He was intriguing to Sherlock. He had a bit of a hard time reading him. In the month around him he had worked out that he wanted to be a doctor once this ridiculous war ended. The Corporal also had a home life that left little to be desired. He did not have a girl back home as he left his girl, Mary, when he deployed to Africa. John gambled and it was probably a bit of a problem for him because he lost quite a bit during card games. He had a bit of a temper as well because when he lost he was hot headed. John liked the excitement and danger of war too because he lit up when he spoke about past battles.  
  
But there was still so much he couldn’t suss out about John Watson. One of which was that he had no idea why John wouldn’t just have sex with him already. The man was absolutely infuriating. He clearly wanted to and he had slept with men before, the whole crew had it seemed. But John was denying himself for no reason that Sherlock could extract.  
  
“Private Holmes,” John said as he walked over to where he was watching some of the men play football. “Spare wank?”  
  
“I thought you were never going to ask me.” Sherlock smirked.  
  
“No, you have spare time.” John scoffed at his advance, like he did every other time Sherlock had tried.   
  
Since Sherlock’s first night with the regiment John had done his best not to be alone with him, sadly.  
  
“Yes, for once I am not doing a thing. Do you have job in mind that you would like to ruin it with because that’s what you NCO’s seem to be good at?”  
  
“I’m not sure it will ruin it but your brother must have known you weren’t up to anything because he’s waiting in the officer’s mess to see you. I was instructed to come retrieve you by Captain Nichols.”  
  
“Can you tell him I’m having a spare wank?” He reached for his cigarettes. The last thing he wanted was to see Mycroft.  
  
“It’s an order, Private.” John stood up straight, hands behind his back. He wondered if the army was ever going to embed itself in him as it did in John and the others. They all oozed soldier but Sherlock wasn’t sure if he did or if he wanted to.  
  
“Why is he even here?” Sherlock complained, giving in and walking with John to where his brother had no doubt taken over. That’s what the Holmes do, they go into a place and take it over.  
  
“Word is we’re getting our marching orders soon.” John explained to Sherlock. “Maybe he’s here to wish you well.”  
  
“Mycroft and I do not have that type of relationship.”  
  
John gave him a funny look, “Your brother’s name is Mycroft, your father’s name is Siger, your name is Sherlock…”  
  
Sherlock furrowed his brow, “Your point, Watson?”  
  
“My point is you, toff, is that your names fit your station.”  
  
“I don’t understand why everyone is always on about my class. I was unfortunately was born into it.”  
  
“You should have taken advantage of it.” The Corporal informed him.  
  
“Why do you keep saying that?”  
  
John let out an exasperated breath, “You’ll understand when we get into active service. You’ll be wishing for your brother or father to come and get you.”  
  
“I doubt it.”  
  
The other man gave him a knowing look as they stopped in front of the mess, “Go on then. I’ll see you at dinner. I’ve some duties to see to.”  
  
“I’d much rather be doing whatever it is you’re getting up to.” Sherlock pushed his way into the mess.   
  
There he found it empty aside from his brother in a brown tweed suit and red tie. He was sitting at the table with two cups of tea and an empty plate with crumbs on it. “What do you want, Mycroft?”  
  
“Hello, brother dear. Come have a seat, will you?” He gestured across the table from him.  
  
He folded his arms and did so, just so he could have a cup of tea.  
  
“It’s so lovely to see you.”  
  
“It’s not lovely to see you. There is a rather lot of you to see.” Sherlock stubbed his cigarette out into the empty plate in front of Mycroft. “You’re looking rather plump.”  
  
“Enough of that, brother.” He scolded.  
  
“Why are you here? This is a sealed camp.”  
  
“I have access, I’m sure you know that.”  
  
He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea. It was too weak and too cold. That’s another thing about the army, you couldn’t find a proper cup of tea. Damned rations.  
  
“Will you please drop this soldier boy charade and return home? I want to send you Bletchley, you’ll thrive there. With you there this war could be over in weeks.”  
  
Sherlock looked at his brother scathingly, “Why are you here now?”  
  
“Mummy and Father thought it right to have one last effort before you’re sent into the abyss.” Mycroft explained, “In the coming days you are going to be given an assignment for a rather substantial operation. I’m unsure of how long you’ll be away but what you’ll be doing will be, no doubt, dangerous.”  
  
“We’re making a push into France, aren’t we?”  
  
“You know that I cannot say a word to you about it, Sherlock. It’s confidential, you’ll find out when you find out.” His brother worked very hard to remain impassive.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, Mycroft. I’m staying here. I can’t leave my crew during the eleventh hour.”  
  
He snickered, “Your crew? I didn’t realize you’d form such connections. Maybe the army is a good thing for you.”  
  
“They’re all dull-witted but mostly harmless.”  
  
“You can go somewhere, where they are not dull.”  
  
“No,” He said firmly.  
  
“I can’t believe you’re in a regiment that is referred to as The Filthy Fifth.” His upper lip went up in disgust.  
  
“It doesn’t reflect their hygiene.” Sherlock smiled at Mycroft’s displeasure of the nickname.  
  
“Yes, I know, it reflects their drinking and whatever else they get up to in their free time. They aren’t always fans of the rules.”  
  
“Neither am I.”  
  
Mycroft shook his head then moved the conversation on, “You do understand you can be shot or blown to pieces by a grenade?”  
  
“I’ve been well informed by you and everyone else here.” He looked into his cup with a grimace.  
  
“Mummy is very worried. Father and I know that this is a terrible choice.”  
  
“You have no idea if I will die or if I won’t die.”  
  
“Sherlock Holmes, this is a ticket to your death.” Mycroft pounded his fist on the table.  
  
“You’re not changing my mind, brother. What am I to do after the war, anyway, if I live?”  
  
“There’s always a places in the government for you. You’d do well in MI5.”  
  
“No.” He snapped.  
  
“Scotland Yard.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t dignify the suggestion with a response. He was smarter than all the detectives combined.  
  
“You need to finish university.”  
  
“No, I do not need to.”  
  
“You’re wasting so much, for what?”  
  
“To be my own person, to escape the path that has been forced on me.”  
  
“By throwing yourself into something father and I are involved in.”  
  
“I didn’t have many options. Even if you do have control over this, you can’t control exactly what I am to do here.”  
  
“We can find it that you’re reassigned to a cushy job.”  
  
“You will not, Mycroft. For once in my life, let me be!” Sherlock rose to his feet, “I think we’re quite done here. I have things to do.”  
  
“Sherlock, your loss would break my heart.”  
  
Sputtering Sherlock glared at his brother, “What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”  
  
He shrugged, “Good luck, brother dear. Please stay safe, for Mummy’s sake at least. Try to write.”  
  
Without a look back Sherlock strode out of the officer’s mess.

***

Sherlock was still in a mood by the time dinner rolled around. He looked at the corned beef on his tray as if it had offended him, not wanting to eat.  
  
“I take it that the meeting with your brother didn’t go very well.” John sat down next to him. They had not seen each other since the Corporal had left him off at the officer’s mess.  
  
“He’s an infuriating fat man. I can’t stand him. I don’t understand how I was born from the same parents.”  
  
John hummed, “What did he want?”  
  
“It was his final chance to try to persuade me to get a different posting.”  
  
“Final chance? Does that mean we’re going to be moving on soon?”  
  
“He said that we will be receiving our orders very soon.” Sherlock glanced over at John. “You’re rather excited over that. After all those years in the desert, I’d think you’d be ready to go home to Scotland.”  
  
John just lifted both shoulders.  
  
“You like war. You go on and on about how I should think about getting out of here while I still can and you’re tearing at the seams to go back to the theater.” Sherlock accused the other man as Murray and Dimmock joined them.  
  
“Sherlock finally figured you out, did he?” Murray questioned.  
  
“You do! You love it.” He grinned wildly at John who thinned his lips.  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“John’s good at it. He knows what to do and how to do it.”  
  
“And gets a rush from it all.” Bill pointed at him with his knife.  
  
Sherlock looked at John, who cut into his corned beef like Bill didn’t say a word. What a wonderful little fact to learn about the man. He had a feeling he liked danger and to have it all confirmed made him giddy.  
  
“So, you’re not going to listen to your brother?” John changed the subject back.  
  
“Why would I listen to him?”  
  
“Because he clearly knows things that none of us know about. What exactly did he say about what we’re going to be doing?”  
  
“He wouldn’t disclose a thing.” Sherlock sighed. “We’re certainly going to France. When I mentioned it, he was even more guarded than usual.”  
  
“So France, it is boys.” John eyes went wide.  
  
“Of course it’s France, we’re on the water. We’ve been water-proofing machines.”  
  
“Amphibious landing.” Bill nodded. “I’m not sure if that beats the sodding desert or not.”  
  
“I’m sure we’re going to find out soon, Dust.”  
  
Murray and John shared a look.  
  
“Let’s hope whatever it is we’re doing ends this war soon. I’d like to get home to my girl permanently.”  
  
“You haven’t been gone very long, Greg.” Bill rolled his eyes. “Johnny’s been gone for almost six friggin years.”  
  
“But John doesn’t have a bird back home.”  
  
“He does have a life.”  
  
John shrugged, “Army’s my life. I don’t know what I’m going to do afterward.”  
  
“Go to school, get a degree, marry, and have kids.”  
  
He bit his lip. Clearly he didn’t want to do all that, possibly some of it but not all.

***

 **21:00 3rd June, 1944**  
  
They got their orders at a debriefing following dinner on the 3rd. They were to leave for the beaches of Normandy the following night. Gold Beach was where they were to come ashore and face the Nazis. The Brass assured the men it was going to be a tough battle but they were to have one up on the Germans because it was a surprise attack. They were all given maps and told to study them so they knew the lay of the land. Their objective was to take the beach in a day, the city of Caen in three.  
  
Some of the men looked scared, others excited, and a few unsure. Sherlock wasn’t sure how to feel because he had no experience to go on. He had experienced The Blitz a few times when he had escaped to the city but he knew that it was going to be far different. He was going to be shooting back at the people trying to kill him and the was actually going to be able to see the men firing.  
  
Following the debriefing Sherlock went on a walk. Eventually he found John behind the garage, just as he had over a month ago. They had not be alone since then, it was as if he was keeping Sherlock’s at an arm’s length on purpose.  
  
“Hello,” John smiled at him when he realized was standing at the edge of the building.   
  
He was sitting on the ground, writing in a journal. He closed the notebook with a snap before he tucked it in his pocket with his torch he had been holding in his mouth to see.  
  
“I never thought of you as a journal keeping bloke.” Sherlock sat next to him.  
  
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”  
  
“Yes, there is, isn’t there? But we’re about to spend how ever long together inside a tank. I’ll be able to deduce your entire life soon enough.”  
  
John laughed and took his beret off, “You have no idea what you’re about to get into. Honestly, I have no real idea because everything is different but I have faced battle before.”  
  
“You’re excited.”  
  
“I’ve been sitting on my arse for months now, it’s about time to get a move on.”  
  
Sherlock took out his cigarette case and held it to John, “I’m interested to see you in action.”  
  
“Are you?” John took out two fags, one for him and one for Sherlock. “I don’t see you displaying this interest towards the other men in the regiment, not even the crew.”  
  
“Because none of them are as interesting as you.” Sherlock slid the cigarette into his mouth as he waited for John to get his satin chrome ronson out. It was engraved with his initials. Sherlock took it out of his hands to light his cigarette for him. He liked how it felt in his hands.  
  
After the cigarette had an orange glow John pulled it away from his lips and glanced at Sherlock. “How many men have you seduced with those lines, Private?”  
  
“How do you know it’s just men?” He lit his fag before handing the lighter back to John.  
  
He held in the smoke for a moment before letting it out slowly, “I guessed. You went to Harrow and Oxford, you probably didn’t come across many women.”  
  
“Jolly good deducing.” Sherlock hugged his knees to his chest. “I have no interest in women.”  
  
“Neither have I… I mean I tried, I thought something was the matter with me.”  
  
“Nothing is the matter with either of us.” He slid his hand over John’s, where it was resting on his leg.  
  
“Sherlock… I …” John trailed off as Sherlock brushed his thumb over his knuckle.  
  
“I don’t understand, John, why won’t you —”  
  
John shook his head, “I want to. You’re a bloody gorgeous thing but…”  
  
“But what?”  
  
John let out a long breath, “The last man I got involved with died.”  
  
Sherlock squeezed John’s hand, “I’m sorry.” He knew if he played John right he would be able to get what he wanted.  
  
“I loved him. It started out as a lark but we loved each other.”  
  
“You won’t have to worry about that with me. I’m not a very nice man, you won’t fall in love with me. I won’t let you.” Sherlock promised. “I’ve been told that horizontal R&R is a moral booster. Why not have it together?”  
  
“You say you’re not a nice man but I think you just need to improve upon your manners.” John said as he stared at the cigarette between his own fingers. “You know, before my first battle in Africa I never smoked? Now this is a regular bloody habit.”  
  
“You find things a bit addictive. You generally start something and can’t stop, it’s why you don’t drink much with the lads. Did your father like the drink too much?”  
  
John laughed at the obvious truth.  
  
“In about twenty-four hours we’re going to be headed to our apparent deaths. I say tonight we try to forget about that and have a go at it.”  
  
“You’re nothing if not persistent.”  
  
“When I see something or someone I want, I try very hard to get it.”  
  
“You’re normally not told no, are you?”  
  
“Oh, no, I’m told no all of the time.” He gave him a crooked smile before putting the fag between his lips again.  
  
“I’m sure you make ridiculous request.”  
  
“I’ve told you I’m a scientist, John. I was always doing interesting experiments and my mother, teachers, and so on were always saying no.”  
  
“Did you ever blow anything up?”  
  
Sherlock gave him a coy look.  
  
“No wonder why they said no.”  John stubbed his cigarette in to the dirt. “I should turn in, last night in a decent enough bed without being shelled.”  
  
“Please, John, please.” Sherlock looked at him through his long, dark lashes after crushing his cigarette out. He knew the tone would do something for John.  
  
The other man dug his free hand’s fingernails into the dirt, “I’m a fool to say yes and I’m a fool to say no.”  
  
“You’re no fool, John Watson. You’re brilliant.”  
  
“You’re tying too hard. Stop being nice this instant.”  
  
“Do you rather me rude?”  
  
“I — no…” John pushed himself up.  “Ok, yes we can… If you make me fall for you, Sherlock, and you die —”  
  
Sherlock nearly leapt up at John’s ‘yes’. “It will not happen.”  
  
“Come on then,” He nodded towards the door near then. “I heard that you can pick locks, show me how it’s done.”  
  
He fell over himself as he walked to the door at the same time he got his pocketknife out of his pocket.  
  
Sherlock made quick work of the door with John keeping watch as well as holding his torch near the knob for Sherlock to see.  
  
“Eager, are we?” John teased as they entered the garage.  
  
Sherlock liked the smell of the garage. Petrol and oil and sweat. He took a deep breath as John opened the back of the ambulance that Sherlock had seen some men working on earlier in the day.  
  
“Will this be the strangest place you’ve shagged before?” John asked quietly, closing the door behind them. It was pitch black after he turned his torch off. He realized his senses were going to be on overload.  
  
“Possibly. I’m rather annoyed that I’m unable to see you.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Sherlock felt John press up against him, making him collide with the wall of the truck. He dropped his beret to the floor. “I’ve Vaseline and a condom in my pocket.”  
  
“Is that a hint?” John’s hand stroked Sherlock through his trousers.  
  
His head rolled to the side as he felt John’s hand come up to his hair. “Oh, yes. You’re going to fuck me, John.”  
  
The other man let out a low groan as he grazed his teeth over Sherlock’s Adam’s Apple.  
  
Blindly, Sherlock undid John’s flies to shove his hands into his underwear. He was semi-erect, he felt his mouth watering at the thought of what it looked like. He was tempted to get on his knees but he was enjoying the feeling of John against him.  
  
John mouthed at his neck while he worked on Sherlock’s bottoms, “I wish I could see you. I bet you’re bloody gorgeous when you’re all worked up.” He hips bucked as Sherlock stroked him erect.  
  
“The same to you.” He pressed his lips to John’s. The other man tasted like cigarettes and tea.  
  
John tried to push Sherlock’s trousers down but he stopped him to retrieve the Vaseline and condom. He sadly had to remove his hands from John to do so.  
  
“You can do as you wish with me, Corporal.” Sherlock pressed the items into John’s hand.  
  
John growled and spun Sherlock around, “Bend a bit and stand with your legs as far a part as you can.”  
  
Sherlock did so and then listened to John behind him. His breathing was labored as he worked to open to condom. It was so quiet he could hear the sound of the condom rolling down his cock. Then there was the sound of John twisting open the Vaseline. He dropped the small tub, making a loud clattering sound before it rolled away.  
  
“Bugger.” John muttered before pressing a thumb and moving it in small circles against his hole, trying to relax him. Soon enough he pushed two fingers into Sherlock without hesitation.  
  
Sherlock gasped in a mixture of pleasure and pain.  
  
“Sorry, sorry, just got over excited.”  
  
“Its fine, yes, yes, fine.” Sherlock moved back against John’s strong fingers. He braced his hands on the cool walls of the ambulance.  
  
“Hush, I don’t want anyone running in here to find us.”  
  
He bit his hard between his teeth and enjoyed John’s work. It wasn’t long until he was gasping for it.  
  
“John… John… now.”  
  
“All right, I’m here. One moment,” John gripped his right hip.  
  
Soon the head of his penis was pressing against him and sliding in slowly. Sherlock felt himself clench around John, making John stop. The other man rubbed a hand up and down his back to relax him.  
  
“It’s ok,” Sherlock let out a shaky breath. He was starting to feel sweaty under his shirt.  
  
His hand gripped the hair at the nape of Sherlock’s neck and thrust in further until his was buried deep inside him. John paused for a bit longer before he decided to move his hips again.  
  
John snapped his hips in and out over and over, hitting Sherlock in that sweet spot. He had to cover his mouth to keep himself from shouting when John reached around and began to stroke him.  
  
“I’m an idiot for not doing this earlier.”  
  
If it were any other time Sherlock would have made a cutting retort but he couldn’t think properly.  
  
His orgasm hit him hard, without little warning. He barely registered John coming a few thrusts of his hips later.  
  
Neither of the men spoke for a good five minutes as Sherlock rested against the wall, pressing his hot skin against the cool metal. John had pulled out. He wasn’t sure if he had sat or just fallen against the opposite side of the vehicle. All he could hear was the pounding of his pulse in his ears and their panting.  
  
“We need to have a wash.” John’s voice finally broke the near silence.  
  
“Mmm.” Sherlock blindly pulled his bottoms back up. He dug out his torch so they could get out without injuring themselves once they collected their berets.  
  
When they got out into the cool, late spring air John looked at him with a devilish smile, “That was very good and you look as if it was.”  
  
Sherlock looked down at himself and then back at John. Both of their uniforms were rumpled and John appeared as if he just had a very good time. Sherlock’s hair no doubt was a mess as well. He kept it slicked back most of the time but he was sure it was becoming unruly.  
  
“It was very good, John.”  
  
“Brilliant, ah, let’s go get ourselves back together.”  
  
Sherlock smiled and followed after him.

***

John recruited his crew to join him on inventory before they set off.  
  
“Did you hear they found a used condom and Vaseline in the ambulance in the garage?” Bill asked after checking something off his list.  
  
“Who on earth shagged in that?” Dim gawked. “And when would you? Don’t they lock up?”  
  
“Locks can be picked, Charles.” Sherlock’s deep voice droned near a crate of ammunition.  
  
“Ox, are you speaking from experience?” Greg slapped his clip board down, narrowing his eyes on Sherlock.  
  
“Come on lads, we have a date tonight and we don’t want to keep her waiting.” John checked his watch. “If we don’t finish, I’m the one who’s going to be reprimanded.”  
  
“Doc, are you avoiding the subject? Did you two…”  
  
“Inappropriate.” John warned and the rest of the crew laughed. Sherlock gave him a quick quirk of the lips before he resumed counting. “Back to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came across a story of a gay soldier from WWII that I thought I would share. The attitude of the soldiers is really interesting to me. You can read it [here](http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/36/a2688636.shtml)


	3. Disaster D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 5th RTR is stuck somewhere in The Channel on D-Day. When they arrive Sherlock gets his first taste of war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Term To Know For This Chapter:  
> Jerries: Term used by British and US troops for German troops. Originated in WWI, but was widely used in WWII, especially among the British. Reported to be derived from the common German given name Gerhart, but may simply be a contraction and modification of “German,” which may explain why it was sometimes incorrectly spelt “Gerry.” Another, more pungent, theory is that “jerry” is British slang for a chamber pot.  
> Nack It: Stop it! Shut up!  
> Blighty: England. Derived from a Hindustani word meaning “far country.”  
> Feet: Infantry

**18:00 6th June, 1944. Somewhere between England and France**  
  
A storm raged in the English Channel on from June fifth through the sixth. It made the waters unnavigable, essentially stranding the men of John’s regiment at sea. The original plan was for them be begin Operation Neptune on the fifth but the seas were too rough so The Brass pushed it back a day.   
  
Clearly it wasn’t any better. They were supposed have made their way up the beach hours ago but they were unable to get through the turbulent waters of The Channel.  
  
From his point of view the invasion of Normandy was a cock up just as most of the Africa campaign. Hopefully in the end they would be able to pull through like they did there. He was curious how the beaches were and if the Allies were making any progress at all. At the rate they were going at it didn’t look as if the war was going to ever end. If it did end then everyone was going to be speaking German if they didn’t play their cards right.   
  
Not that it mattered either way because he was most likely going to die at sea without reaching The Continent.  
  
Their carrier rocked too and fore, making John’s stomach do the same. He managed to keep his last meals down but the four other members of his crew and many of the other men in the regiment were not fairing very well. The sea-sickness pills were not doing their job. His men were doing their best not to lose any more of their food back in the tank but he had a feeling that they weren’t fairing very well.  
  
After talking to a group of officers John went out through to deck to find Sherlock. The man had been doing very poorly the last time he had seen him. John had to weave through the men that seemed to be everywhere, stopping every so often to chat with someone. Everyone seemed angry, not very good to have such horrible moral before they even landed.  
  
Eventually he found Sherlock leaning over the edge hurling.   
  
He held the hood of his poncho tight under his chin as he walked over to him. “You can’t stay out here, you’ll catch your death.” He rested his hand on the plastic material covering Sherlock’s back.  
  
“I can’t stay inside the tank like any longer with the boat rocking like this, I’ll surely go mad.” He coughed.  
  
“I can’t have you catching pneumonia before we even get there.”  
  
“If we ever get there.”  
  
“We’ll get there.” He said but he didn’t believe it himself.  
  
“I doubt it.”  
  
“Maybe if you were organizing this whole thing —”  
  
“Shut up, John.” He cleared his throat before turning around to look at the shorter man. “I won’t hear one more word about me going to the line.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” He frowned.  
  
“Its fine.” He wrung his hands. “Tell me this is the worst part.”  
  
“Personally, I’d rather be in the tank fighting. At least then we’re on solid ground there and Greg will be driving the sodding thing so we won’t be stranded in some field.” He gave him a reassuring smile.  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath and gazed out on to the swells in the furious sea.  
  
“Look at the state of you, you’re soaked to the bone. Come on, under some cover. You can’t have anything else left in your stomach to get sick on.”  
  
Sherlock nodded before John turned on his heel and went back towards their tank, being careful to not fall on the rain and sick slicked deck.  
  
Before they stuffed themselves back into the tank they took off their rain gear.  
  
Bill, Dim, and Lestrade were all curled up in their cramped confines. They all appeared to be a bit green. John folded himself into the command seat and Sherlock squeezed down in front of him, making himself as small as he could. John let him sit against his legs. He took his beret off and rested against John’s knees.  
  
“Bloody hell, I’d much rather be getting shot at by some Jerries. This is torture.” Bill said as Sherlock slumped against John even more so.  
  
“I spoke to Lieutenant Blume, he said we won’t be there until mid morning, most likely.” John broke the news to his crew.  
  
“Midmorning?” Lestrade complained.  “This is hell and I have never committed a sin, Coporal.”  
  
“I’m sure you have, Lestrade, you just don’t know.”  
  
“I have not done a thing to deserve this. I don’t think any of us have.” Greg groaned loudly. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He pushed himself out of his hatch.  
  
John gave a bit of a soft laugh. He didn’t think the man’s pain was funny, he just had no other way to react to it.  
  
“I don’t think I can take this any longer.” Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed and burrowed closer to John even though there was no where closer he could be.  
  
Without thinking John put his hand in Sherlock’s slicked back hair. It was damp and curly now, the pomade wasn’t doing its job. His hair wasn’t as in place as he normally kept it and it was probably driving him barmy. John liked the curls and teased them out as he ran is fingers though the man’s locks. He figured that it would soothe him somewhat.  
  
“I’ve always liked the ocean,” He took a deep breath, probably trying to control the nausea. “I now hate it.”  
  
“Thank heavens you didn’t join the Royal Navy.” John joked.  
  
“I would be dead in no time and it wouldn’t be by an enemies’ attack.”  
  
“Fuck the bloody Navy.” Dim snickered as Bill cleared his throat.  
  
John craned to look at him and Bill shot him a questioning glance, his eyes moving between his face and Sherlock’s. John just shrugged. He wasn’t getting involved with Sherlock like that. Maybe if they were in a different place, at a different time he would think about it because the man was everything John could ask for it seemed. Sherlock was whip smart and bloody beautiful.  
  
“Dim, don’t curse the Navy. Who’s vessel do you think we’re on?” He turned away from Bill’s looks.  
  
“Yes, and who has us lost at sea?” Dim questioned.  
  
“Fair point, Private. I wouldn’t say we’re lost but still, fair point.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “At least we have plenty of water.”  
  
“Not drinkable.”  
  
“No, but we do have plenty of the clean stuff bottled. In the desert we had to ration water. Somedays we didn’t have enough to drink because we had to put it in the engine to cool the thing down.”  
  
“So glad I joined up when you lot were in Italy.” Dim said.  
  
“I only suffered a month of Africa, not sure how you did it.”  
  
John smiled then frowned, thinking about his previous mission.  
  
“Doc did it by shagging James McCullen.”  
  
If they weren’t in the cramped hull of the tank he probably would have been chinning Bill for the comment. Instead he could only drop his hand from Sherlock’s hair and clench his fists.  
  
Sherlock sat straight up and twisted to look at John, “The person who died? The lark?”  
  
“You told him.” Bill laughed. “You two were the ones in the ambulance, weren’t you?”  
  
Dim let out a high whistle, “I knew it!”  
  
“If you could all stop gabbing, it’d be appreciated.” John rubbed his face.  
  
“You didn’t deny it.”  
  
“Nack it, Lance Corporal, that’s an order.”  
  
Sherlock pursed his lips before he turned back around, “You really did love him, didn’t you?”  
  
“I’m surprised you got him to bed, Ox.” Bill commented as John decided that he couldn’t be in there anymore. He nearly kicked Sherlock in the head on his way out.  
  
“Where you going?”  
  
“I’m suddenly feeling ill again.” John didn’t want to hear it when he was about to go get shot at.

***

Sherlock watched John clamber out of the hatch, as if he were escaping from enemy fire.  
  
“I didn’t think he was going to react that way. He just never talks about him, I thought maybe he was over it by now.” Murray revealed.  
  
“He was clearly, deeply in love with that man.” Sherlock moved slowly to sit where John had been.  
  
“Are you in love with John?”  
  
“I don’t fall in love, Bill.” Sherlock looked at his hands because he didn’t know what else to do. He then decided to stand up. “Love is a silly, stupid thing.” Sherlock carefully opened the hatch.  
  
“Are you going after him?” Bill asked him.  
  
“I need a fag and fresh air.” He did and he was of course going after John.  
  
For some odd reason he found John’s displeasure over the whole thing rather upsetting. He was enjoying John’s company, not to mention he wanted to repeat their activities from the other night. He was certain that John was the only person he had ever been able to spend time with and not get frustrated and angry with. Actually, Victor was that way as well but that was different somehow.  
  
Sherlock was basically stumbling around the boat to find the bloke. It seemed as if there were people all over the place. Thankfully it had stopped raining but the wind was still hell, making it difficult to light his cigarette. If this was the most dreadful part of the whole ordeal he decided that he would be very happy. If it wasn’t then he made the wrong choice in defying his family… not that he would ever tell them.  
  
He finally found John near the stern of the boat smoking. He looked very stressed out, “Come to bother me about it?”  
  
“I’m curious how he died but you don’t have to tell me.”  
  
John nodded, “I’d rather not tell you. I would not like to relive it today.”  
  
“Some other day?”  
  
“Possibly, who knows. You did say before the war ends you’ll know everything about me.”  
  
“This is true.” Sherlock took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs.  
  
“Are you feeling all right?” John seemed to always be more concerned with others than himself. He was always asking if Sherlock was doing ok, and meaning it.  
  
“A bit better. Though you mussed up my hair that scalp massage it was rather nice.”  
  
“My mum used to do it to me when I sick as a child.” John smiled at the memory.  
  
“That’s a nice memory?” Sherlock felt him looking at the other man fondly.  
  
“One of few.” He turned his focus away from Sherlock and to the angry waters. “When it gets dark I’ll do it again if you need. I can’t stand to listen to them right now.”  
  
This set a warm feeling off in his chest. He didn’t like that much because it was so strange. “In the dark they won’t see and they won’t comment.”  
  
“Exactly.” John said around his cigarette.  
  
“Did you know that I’ve solved crimes before?” Sherlock decided that it would be good to change the topic of discussion.  
  
“Crimes? No, you’ve never said a word. How thrilling!”  
  
“I’ve yet to get my hands on anything too interesting but I hope to change that when I return to my life back in Blighty.” He blinked, surprised that he was letting their vernacular sink to his words  
  
“So tell me, Ox, what have you done?”  
  
“Oh, please do not call me that name.”  
  
“Oi, you never snap at the others.”  
  
“Because they’re idiots. Call me Sherlock, Holmes, or Private if you must.”  
  
John laughed, “Ok, then, tell me what you’ve done Sherlock.”  
  
He went on to tell John about finding his cousin’s pearl necklace that many in the house assumed the help had taken but it was really her best friend who was in need of money to take care of her boyfriend’s gambling debt. He solved the case in the two days he was at his cousin’s home in Surrey.  
  
“Brilliant!”  
  
“It was obvious, once I questioned her about how long it took her to prepare three drinks and carry them down to the swimming hole the day the pearls went missing, she got all tongue tied.”  
  
“Wonderful!”  
  
“It was enjoyable.”  
  
“Are you going to be a detective, then?”  
  
“After this, I refuse to be apart of anything that I have to wear a uniform and follow strict rules for.” Sherlock grimaced at the thought of being in the police force.  
  
“You’re really out of place here and I’m not just saying that because you’re a posh sod.”  
  
Sherlock nodded in agreement. The people he knew all told him, “Yes, this really isn’t my thing but here I am.”  
  
“You’ve done a mighty fine job of it so far.”  
  
“I haven’t been shot at yet.”  
  
“You will be soon… if we ever GET OFF THIS BLOODY BOAT!” John shouted the last words and it drew some attention from some of the men that were scattered around by them.  
  
Sherlock grinned at his random burst of temper, “Yelling about it won’t make it happen faster will it?”  
  
“I don’t think we’ve tried it yet.” John squinted out at the water. “Maybe it will work.”  
  
“I used to want to be a pirate as a child.” Sherlock spoke so quietly that he wondered if John could actually hear him.  
  
“Precious.”  
  
“No, it is ridiculous. I’m only saying this because I now understand I have no idea what being on the sea really meant.”  
  
“You’d make a fetching pirate.”  
  
Sherlock tossed his fag into The Channel.  
  
“You’d be the Captain, wouldn’t you? What was your name?”  
  
“I’ve said too much.” Sherlock retrieved another cigarette. He offered one to John, who just finished his but he declined.  
  
“Did you play pretend as a lad? Did you have a little hat and pretend sword?” The Corporal had his lighter out before Sherlock could get to his. “Who was your first mate?” He cupped his hand and flicked the wheel until it ignited. “That must have been a thing to see.”  
  
“Why did I say that to you?”  
  
“Who knows… ah bloody hell it’s raining again.”  
  
He tilted his head back to the sky and blew his smoke up, letting the rain fall into his face.

***

 **15:00 7th June 1944. Code Name: Gold Beach Normandy, France**  
  
They finally reached land but it did little to settle Sherlock’s stomach. As they crept on to the beach after departing from the landing craft he looked out his vision block to see Gold Beach covered in blood, bodies, and broken down vehicles. There were apparently 400 men dead or missing just from Gold alone.  
  
“Fucking hell.” Dim whispered as they heard shots far in the distance. The first gunshots of the war, Sherlock thought. Well, of his war. They didn’t seem very scary but then again they weren’t shooting at him yet.  
  
The beach had been taken by the British troops and the fighting was now a little over a mile inland. They were to go to a rendezvous point just off the beach in the neighboring village to learn of their mission. Sherlock didn’t care where he would be going or what he would be doing, as long as it was going to be on dry land.  
  
“What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?; Only the monstrous anger of the guns.” Sherlock muttered to himself. For some reason the poem was the first thing to come to his mind after he registered the smell of burning flesh mixed with salt water, smoke, and petrol.  
  
“What was that?” John said without looking at him, he was too busy taking in the scene himself.  
  
“It’s called Anthem For a Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen. He fought last time we were at this. I don’t normally concern myself with poetry or any literature that is not purely informational for that matter but my former roommate at Oxford suggested that I read Owen before going off to war.”  
  
“What’s the whole thing, do you know it?”  
  
He nodded as they rolled up the beach, passing a few shelled out tanks.  
  
“Go on then,” John encouraged him.  
  
“What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?  
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.  
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle  
Can patter out their hasty orisons.  
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;  
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,  
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;  
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.  
What candles may be held to speed them all?  
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes  
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.  
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;  
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,  
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.”  
  
“Well… that’s… nice and up lifting.” Bill spoke sarcastically.  
  
“He wrote about trench warfare, much of his work is like that.” Sherlock explained to the men.  
  
“What a great friend to send you off to war with that.”  
  
“I never said he was my friend.” Sherlock reminded them. In all honesty he was never sure how to refer to Victor. They were more than friends and roommates but Sherlock never wanted to let him close enough to love him. It frightened him to be open with Victor.  
  
“How do you remember all that, Sherlock?”  
  
“A Mind Palace.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“It’s a technique to help your memory… I’ve different rooms for different things.”  
  
“So, you’re a human encyclopedia.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, turning away from the vision blocks because he didn’t want to see any more carnage. He focused on John’s profile. “If you must think of it that way, by all means…”  
  
“I know you’re smart, but I don’t think I have the full grasp on it yet.” John licked his lips quickly.  
  
“Not even close.”  
  
“We barely know Sherlock, do you realize that?” Dim questioned them.  
  
“That’s because I don’t want you to.”  
  
“We’ll see how fast that changes now.” John glanced over at him. “The battlefield brings down everyone defenses.”  
  
Sherlock doubted that, he’d never had his walls knocked down by someone before.  
  
“This is bloody miserable. How’d this place look before yesterday?”  
  
“I’m assuming much like any other beach town in France.” Sherlock fiddled with his tags.  
  
“Have you been to a French beach town before?”  
  
“No but my Grandmère has told me all about her youth.” He explained to them.  
  
“You speak French?”  
  
“Oui.”  
  
“Jolly good!” John smiled, “If we need a translator we can go to you.”  
  
“I also speak German.”  
  
He could feel all the eyes on him, “Anything else?”  
  
“Latin of course, Italian, Spanish, Russian, and Portuguese.”  
  
“Jesus Christ.”  
  
“Not quite.”  
  
“You shouldn’t be here.” He heard John say softly as if he were worried for his life.  
  
Sherlock looked back outside at the carnage, wondering for the first time if John was right.

***

“We’re moving south to Caen. The plan is to capture it within the next two days. The Americans are swinging west to push the lines that way. Right now we’re going to be heading out about a mile southeast from here where there’s a fight going on.” John said after he joined the crew following a meeting with Brass and the other officers and tank commanders. “Some feet are pinned down and are in need of back up so the 7th is going in and the filthy fifth is leading the charge.”  
  
“Are you ready, Ox? Your first go at it?” Bill grinned as he climbed on top of the tank.  
  
Sherlock could only nod.  
  
“You’ll be fine… ah, hopefully.” John patted Sherlock’s back. “Come on then, let’s roll.”  
  
Sherlock took a deep breath before getting back into his position in the tank. This time he had to be ready to load the artillery and receive instructions from the higher ups.  
  
After a few minutes Sherlock received word on the radio that it was time to move. Not five minutes later they were going down a tight lane and John was cursing.  
  
“Lovely country but I can’t see over these sodding hedges! We could be ambushed.” John opened the hatch.  
  
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Dim yelled.  
  
“It’s the only way I can see.”  
  
“You’re going to get your head shot off!” Bill shouted after John as he stuck his head up.  
  
“It’s either risk having my head shot off or have us blown up without a chance to fight?”  
  
“Noble sod.” Bill smiled at Sherlock.  
  
It was quiet until they were about a half mile on, where they came upon a group of Germans near a chateau. It stood tall a proud, white and light pale with big windows. He wondered if it looked like the Holmes’ residence that his Grandamère always went on and on about.  
  
“Probably got cut off from the rest of their infantry.” John said, ducking down. “There’s a chateau up on the right,” He paused as there was some shouting in German. “As I was saying, there’s a chateau up on the right, likely filled with more Jerries.”  
  
“Can’t we just blast the thing?” Bill gestured to his left.  
  
“Not allowed, orders are no unnecessary destruction of property.” John spoke as shots sounded outside the tank around them.  
  
“It’s not unnecessary when they’re shooting at us!” A few bullets pinged off of the  tank as they came to a stop. Sherlock could feel his pulse picking up and his hands were starting to sweat.  
  
“You going to pop your head back up there now, Doc?” Bill raised his eyebrow.  
  
“I’m thinking about it.” He glanced up.  
  
Sherlock licked his bottom lip, “You have no fear.”  
  
“After getting shot at for nearly six years, you learn to manage.” John took the receiver from Sherlock, who had been holding it tight in his right hand.  
  
He had a feeling that John wasn’t just managing the fear, he was enjoying the thrill that adrenaline gave him.  
  
“All right,” John handed the receiver back to Sherlock, “As I said we’re not to beat up the building, just the sods shooting at us.” He peered out the visions blocks. “From what I can see and what the Squadron Commander says, there are at least twenty men. Ten on the left, ten on the right in the chateau. We get the left. Bill, aim to the left about twenty degrees and smoke ‘em. Dim, take the gun to ‘em and light ‘em up.”  
  
The men got into their positions, calmly. Sherlock felt bizarre because was that that he was the only one that was nervous. He did he best to not show it on his face.  
  
“Ready? On my command, fire.”  
  
Sherlock loaded the 75mm shell then looked to John.  
  
John grinned like a madman, “FIRE!”  
  
The loud bang made Sherlock’s ears ring and the recoil felt in the tank made his breath catch in his throat. It’s not as if he didn’t know what happened, he was perfectly trained and experienced it all before. But for some reason it was completely different in this situation.  
  
He never thought that it was going to scare him, being shot at or assisting in shooting at people, but he couldn’t overcome the fear. Sherlock was normally so good at suppressing his feelings and dealing with his body’s chemical responses but it was different. He felt as if his life was suddenly shifting in a new direction. He didn’t like it.  
  
“Nice one lads! Do it again,” He rotated his index finger in the air as the whistle of bullets soared through the air, occasionally hitting the tank. John’s near glee made him feel better. The man had almost been in the army for six years now and survived. He was his tank commander, he could rely on John to get him through. Not that he liked relying on people but it seemed that in this environment he was going to have to.  
  
A few more rounds later all was quiet before a few burst of hoots and hollers broke out from the rest of the regiment. To Bill’s dismay the chateau was standing with only a few dents from shrapnel.  
  
“Let’s move out!” John knocked his hand against the bulkhead that separated them and Lestrade.  
  
“How you doing Ox?” Dim gave him a questioning look.  
  
“I feel as if I’m about to vomit.” He said honestly.  
  
“That’s the adrenaline.” John patted him on the shoulder. “Now suck it up because we’ve bigger fish to fry.”  
  
Sherlock cleared his throat and gave him a curt nod before settling in to listen to the receiver. He could do it. He could fight in a war and show his parents and brother he is his own person, not just a Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poet that Sherlock quotes in this chapter, Wilfred Owen, fought in WWI for the UK. Owen’s doctor actually encouraged him to use his poetry as a way to deal with his “shell shock” or as we know it, PTSD. He was also homosexual and according to his friends a central element in a lot of his poetry is homoeroticism. If you haven’t heard about him or read his works, I suggest it. I went looking for poetry from WWI that could be referenced in WWII and I ended up reading nearly everything I could find on the web from him before deciding on “Anthem for Doomed Youth”, which is one of his more popular works.
> 
> Also, in my head Sherlock secretly loves poetry. I think I might revisit that later…
> 
> And… I couldn’t find exactly what it looked like in the inside of the Cromwells so my description is really hazy. When I get to the Shermans the next chapter it will be a lot better.


	4. Battle of the Brigade Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D-Day+6. The 5th RTR face their first important battle on their way to take Caen. It’s a long one and Sherlock has a bit of a meltdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Terms to Know**  
>  The Sherman Firefly: Easily caught fire and referred to as ‘ronsons’ like the lighter. If you scroll down [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M4_Sherman) to the M4A4 Cutaway you can get an idea of what the inside looks like  
> Polari: I found the information on it here as well as a few posts on livejournal. I thought it was interesting and decided to bring it in because why not.  
> SFA: Sweet Fuck All/Nothing (this is my favorite thing that I’ve learned recently and will be using it all the time)  
> Wuff: Kill an enemy or destroy a tank or other vehicle.

**09:00 12th June, 1944. 10 miles of Villers-Bocage, France**  
  
    A few days after landing in France they were given their first major, but supposedly easy, assignment. They were to take Villers-Bocage and push the lines back as far as they could. It was an important piece to get if they wanted to ever make it to Caen. The Allies had the goal of taking Caen in under three days, it had yet to happen. But General Montgomery found a gap in the lines and it involved going through Villers-Bocage to make it to their main goal.  
  
The day before was an embarrassment of riches for John Watson. He was given a promotion to Sergeant, unexpectedly. Captain Nichols said if he kept it up that he might be given an even higher promotion before the war was over. On top of that he was in charge of a troop now. So there were twenty men under him and more responsibility. He was very happy to take it on because he was fairly certain the army was going to be his life, even after war.  
  
Then he was given a new Sherman Firefly. They were not given enough for the entire regiment so each troop had one and only the most experienced got to be in charge of them. Now all the troops consisted of three Cromwells and a Sherman. The Shermans were hard to drive but the OQF 17-pounder gun had the ability to actually take out the Nazi’s Panther and Tigers unlike the ruddy Cromwells. It also had the Browning M2 and Browning M1919 for that extra punch.  
  
“Hello Sergeant, would you like a cuppa before we head out?” Dim gestured to the tea that was being prepared in front of him.  
  
“Yes, I would, Private.” John sat down next to Sherlock who was scribbling in a notebook. The large scroll that was covering the page looked to be in French so John had no idea what he was doing.  
  
Sherlock was adjusting all right. There was a bit of the first day where John was sure he was about to go running for the hills but he stayed. The man was a bit mad but so weren't the rest of the crew and regiment. He was just mad in a different, intellectual way. It was like an eccentric scientist type of loony. He was also determined to prove his family wrong that he belonged where they wanted him.  
  
John thought he did belong somewhere he could use his great big brain but that didn’t mean that he didn’t appreciate what he was doing in the field. Sherlock was brave and faced his fear in the eye, only really flinching once.  
  
“What are you writing about, Holmes?” John said while peering down at the foreign writing.  
  
“It’s an experiment idea.” He mumbled. The biro didn’t leave the paper as he spoke.  
  
They had, as Sherlock said, traded, the other day during a rest halt after being keyed up following a battle. He was completely thrown off by how he was speaking to him. He commented on John’s thews (thighs), saying they were strong when he was giving him plate (oral sex).  
  
Apparently John was missing out on an entire queer culture that Sherlock said had its own language, almost like a soldier’s. He informed him it was called Polari and it was started in fishmarkets, theaters, and fairgrounds. Beginning in the 30’s, possibly before, it worked its way into the gay subculture. He gave him a masterclass on the whole bloody language over dinner but only a few words stuck with John.  
  
It was decided that they should use some of the words if they ever in the mood and had the chance to sneak off from the troop. John was very excited at the fact that Sherlock wanted to continue their arrangement.  
  
“What kind of experiment?”  
  
He couldn’t get over how brilliant Sherlock was. Anytime they talked he learned something new. It wasn’t always something new about Sherlock but something new about anything. It seemed that he knew everything that needed to be known.  
  
He snapped the notebook shut and squinted at John in the sun, “It’s about eyeballs freezing and thawing.”  
  
“Are you a murderer?” He teased Sherlock.  
  
“Mmm, I’ve joined the service under an assumed name to avoid being caught.” The other man reached for the cup of tea Dim was offering to him. “Not that I would ever be in danger of being caught because I’m far too smart for them.”  
  
“As long as you don’t murder any of us I guess I don’t really care.” John shrugged as the rest of the men laughed.  
  
“Very good then, I wasn’t planning on it. None of you fit my type.”  
  
“I’d say Doc’s you’re type.” Bill muttered, lighting a fag.  
  
John shot him a look.  
  
“What were you studying at University? I forget.” Dim asked, thankfully skating over what Bill had said.  
  
“Chemistry.” He looked a bit longingly into the distance. He clearly missed doing experiments and such.  
  
“That deals with eyeballs?” Bill raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Its science. It deals with chemistry.” Sherlock said with a flourish of his hand. “All physical science is interesting to me. Plus, it could be helpful knowledge in the future if I plan on investigating crimes.”  
  
“That brain on you… we’ve got to get you through this war without you getting hurt so you can put it to good use.” Greg stretched his legs out in front of him. “If I ever become a detective, you’re working with me.”  
  
“I’ll hold you to it, Lestrade.” Sherlock gave him a smile. John didn’t doubt that Sherlock would be calling up Greg the moment he was on the force.  
  
John looked at his watch, “Five minutes, lads. We need to get moving.”  
  
He touched Sherlock’s shoulder then removed his hand so fast it looked like the touch burned. Of course, only Bill seemed to notice as the others remained oblivious. He gave John a knowing look. The man was convinced there was something more there than it was. He wasn’t going to let it become more than sex and the usual battlefield friendship. He made that mistake one too many times.  
  
The Sergeant jumped to his feet, “I’m just going to make sure everything’s all set.” He headed to the tank. He was probably running away from Bill.

***

 **12:00 Same Day. Hillside near Villers-Bocage, France.**  
  
John looked at his watch and let out a long, suffering sigh. They had been waiting around too long for the 1st RTR to get through Villers-Bocage. He had not heard any sounds of fighting but that didn’t mean everything was dandy.  
  
 “What the bloody hell are they doing down there? Having tea?” He complained to his crew.  
  
They were waiting to link up with the regiment that was rolling through the Villlers-Bocage. It was supposed to be an easy take so they weren’t needed in the village. They waited on a hillside with a view of the village.  
  
He had a bad feeling about the situation. The feeling was a special twist in the gut that made him want to vomit. One he had when James was killed. It was no good. He couldn’t lose any of his men.  
  
“I don’t like this one bit.” He shifted in his tiny, uncomfortable seat. “They shouldn’t be down there this long. We were supposed to link up well over forty-five minutes ago.”  
  
“Maybe there’s traffic.” Dim snorted a laugh. “You know, busy town… wartime…”  
  
Sherlock leaned his head back against the tank with a thud, “I didn’t realize war could be so boring. I thought I was going to be shot at constantly but it’s terribly boring right now.”  
  
“Its hurry up and wait, mate. Sometimes it is the most boring thing that one could do.” Bill explained as there were the sounds of a Panzer blasted in the distance. “But then it gets interesting.”  
  
“Bloody hell.” John peered through the vision blocks but didn’t see anything. “I’ll go check it out.” He opened his hatch and shinnied up on top of the turret with his binoculars.  
  
“See anything because I’ve got no visual from where I am?” Greg shouted up.  
  
“Nothing that tells me what the hell is going on. I got some smoke rising to the Northwest behind some buildings. But I can’t tell you what’s going on. Private Holmes, anything on the radio?” John still peered out his binoculars.  
  
“Nothing. The other troop commanders are asking about what you see.”  
  
John huffed a breath and frowned, “Tell ‘em SFA… something’s going wrong down there though. If any of them has a better view, let me know.” There were more sounds of shots being fired.  
  
He was almost missing the sodding desert (minus the sand and the completely oppressing heat and the lack of water to drink). At least there you could see for miles a lot of the time and there were normally few places for people to hide. You knew what was coming but here in France everything was tight and there were hills and valleys everywhere. The hedge groves towered over him and made it almost impossible to see a bloody Tiger coming at you. All the lanes were tiny, he wondered at times if the tank would make it down them. There were ambushes nearly every time they went out. John had already seen too many people die and too many tanks blown to bits.  
  
It was grating the nerves of the most battle hardened of the 7th that had been in Africa. He knew a few men who needed to be transferred out because they could not handle it. Luckily his crew seemed to be handling it all right.  
  
“There’s Tiger tanks down there.” Sherlock called up to him. “At least that’s what someone is saying.”  
  
John chewed at his bottom lip, thinking, “Whatever is happening, it’s not good.” He slipped back into the tank.  
  
They sat back and waited as the sounds of the battle. A half hour passed by and it did not calm down. Frankly, it sounded worse.  
  
“What are we doing?” Sherlock leaned over John’s shoulder. “The tank commanders in the troop are asking.”  
  
“If you haven’t heard a thing from Captain Nichols, nothing.”  
  
“Anyone else feel like a sitting duck?” Dim popped his head up into the turret.  
  
John just hummed in response as the Private sat on the ladder that lead up to the turret. He didn’t blame him, the front hull was even more claustrophobic than where he got to sit.  
  
Another hour passed by and it sounded as if the fighting was moving closer, “There’s a Tiger coming our way.” Sherlock announced.  
  
“How far?”  
  
“200 yards Northwest… about.”  
  
He looked out the vision block and of course couldn’t see a sodding thing through the trees. “I can’t tell you to shoot blind, Dust. I’ll just be a moment.” John again climbed out on top of the turret to see over the trees in front of him into the valley below.  
  
“About 150 yards away, I got one Tiger. Straight on, fire when you’re ready, Dust.” John said down to Bill and Sherlock.  
  
Not a minute later the cannon blasted and barely missed the Nazi’s tank.  
  
“A little left, mate.” He instructed.  
  
Bill listened, hitting the Tiger but not blowing it up. John couldn’t see what exactly the damage did but the Tiger was still running.  
  
The tank went in reserve and drove out of sight from the regiment. John was happy that the tank went back and there was no more engagement but he was angry the thing didn’t go up in flames.  
  
“I feel like that was just the beginning of this whole thing.” John dropped into the seat.  
  
“Captain Nichols says to hold our positions for now.” Sherlock informed them.  
  
“All right then, let’s keep with the sitting ducks routine then.”

***

Six hours later they had moved to the fields closer to the town. They had wuffed more than a few Tigers and German infantry.  
  
“Captain Nichols says the RAF is going to be doing an air raid at 20:00.” Sherlock said over his shoulder.  
  
John snapped his head up. It had been quiet for some time now and he had ended taking a nap.  
  
He coughed, “Right then.” John put his helmet on. “Is there anything else that I should know about?”  
  
“No, Sergeant.” Bill answered.  
  
“I need to stretch as well as get some fresh air.” John opened the hatch. Just has he stuck his head out a bullet pinged off the side of the tank. Suddenly two hands were on him, yanking him back down.  
  
“Christ! Is everyone still intact up there?” Lestrade shouted.  
  
“Yes, John was nearly shot in the head.” Sherlock was leaning over him, checking to see if he was hit anywhere.  
  
“I’m fine.” He laughed. “My heart is just racing a bit but I’m ok.”  
  
“That’s not a laughing matter.” Without even looking he knew that Sherlock was frowning at him.  
  
“It’s ok, Private.”  
  
“There are snipers out there, apparently that’s the third time it happened.” Sherlock said, obviously filling them in with chatter from the radio.  
  
“Always with the bloody snipers.”  
  
“We aren’t getting out of these tanks until the fight’s over.” John warned them. “Hopefully with the RAF coming in we’ll be getting out of here soon. It’d probably help if we had some of our sodding infantry.”  
  
“Bloody bastards are never where you need them.” Bill rolled his eyes.  
  
“I’m sure they aren’t having an easy time of it either.” John reminded him.  
  
“So we sit here, even longer…”  
  
“Until something happens. We’re down a whole regiment for god sakes. 1st was completely blind-sided.” He did his best to stretch.  
  
“Did this happen a lot in Africa?” Sherlock queried.  
  
“There wasn’t a lot of hide and seek being played in Africa. Open warfare is much different than this close fighting. I imagine what’s happening over in Japan is even more different.” John shifted so he could look at Bill and Sherlock.  
  
“I’d say Africa was easier but we lost a lot of men in Africa and we lost many battles.” Bill fished out his rations.  
  
“Like James.” Sherlock raised his eyebrow.  
  
“Yes, like James. I dislike your prying, Private.” He wished Sherlock wasn’t so interested in what had happened. John never looked into Sherlock’s personal life, ever more than he wanted to say. “I thought hours in the tank would brake you.” John said as if it was a challenge to Sherlock.  
  
“I’m not easily broke.” Sherlock stared right back at him. For a few seconds he was sure that Sherlock was going to lean over and kiss him.  
  
“The sexual tension between you both is going to set this thing aflame.” Bill smirked.  
  
“Nack it.”  
  
“Oh, we’ve a few feet about 50 yards away to the right.” Sherlock informed them.  
  
“Well, let’s take care of that, shall we?” He licked his lips as he situated himself right in his seat.

***

 **18:00 13th June, 1944. Villers-Bocage, France**  
  
Miserable. Terrible. Horrid. Wretched. Every other word that described their current situation in the tank.   
  
That was what John’s last 30+ hours had been. The tank smelt disgusting. The men were all getting on each others nerves. John was sure that there would have been punches thrown if the tank was a bit bigger. There had only been spotty action, not enough to keep any of them content. It was one of the worst battles that he could remember being in.  
  
Being stuck in a tank for over a full day was almost like being trapped in a coffin. He was happy that he was in the turret, at least there was a tiny bit of space to move his legs.  
  
Sherlock was busy losing his mind. He was able to hold himself together but apparently he reached the end of his rope with not being able to get out and stretch those long legs of his.  
  
“I can’t do this anymore. It’s too bloody quiet! I’ve been in here for far too long! My whole body is yelling at me to get the hell out of here.” His voice rang in the tank.  
  
“Shut it!” Greg yelled. He was stretched awkwardly on the ladder.  
  
“Everyone, stop it!” John commanded in his best authoritative voice. He wasn’t sure if he had that tone before the army but he had one now and it was pretty damn good.  
  
Everyone was quiet for sometime until Sherlock broke it again, “I can’t handle this.” He could hear the Private struggling to breathe behind him.  
  
He had no idea what to do to go about making the man feel better. Surely some air would do some good but if he got out of the tank, he’d probably get shot. That wouldn’t do because John would have jumped out after him and get shot as well. If he stayed there though, someone was going to kill him or he was going to kill himself. He needed a plan of attack to calm him down before someone strangled him.  
  
John turned to look at Sherlock and he found the man clenching his fists. His eyes were watering and about to spill over with tears. Sherlock was usually very composed so to see him looking out of sorts was a bit disconcerting.  
  
“I need to get out of here. I made a mistake with joining up. You were right. Everyone was right. I don’t belong here.”  
  
“You’re just panicking about nothing.” He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, the best he could at least.  
  
“Nothing!” He chest heaved as he snapped at John.  
  
“You need to take some breaths, Sherlock. You are a fine soldier. If you weren’t I’d be trying to get you out of here as soon as possible. You belong here. You belong with us. You don’t belong anywhere else in this sodding war aside from right here in this tank with us. You are ok, Sherlock Holmes. You’re going to get out of here soon enough.”  
  
“I can’t breathe in here.” Tears fell down his cheeks. He was completely torn into pieces and it was heartbreaking to see his friend like that.  
  
“Your mind palace!” John exclaimed loudly. That drew a questioning looks from everyone in the tank. Not that he could see everyone but it as just assumed because Sherlock was even looking at him oddly.  
  
“What — what about it?” Sherlock’s hand’s found John’s forearms and held on for dear life as if he were grounding him into place.  
  
“You store things in there, right? Do you have a way to recall some good memories? Like nice stuff from when you were young?” John asked. He didn’t know too much about it but it seemed like Sherlock put things in there that he found helpful. Maybe he found nice memories helpful from time to time.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Ok, think about those things. Like you wanting to be a pirate.”  
  
Sherlock chuckled a little but he still looked pained.  
  
“Think about that. Or maybe some of your experiments?”  
  
“I wish I had a violin.” He took a trembling breath.  
  
“You play violin?” Bill asked.  
  
“Obviously.” He snarled.  
  
“Relax.” John squeezed his shoulders. “How long have you played?”  
  
“Since I was four.”  
  
“That’s amazing, Sherlock. Why don’t you think about your violin and your experiments and your pirate days?”  
  
He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. Sherlock appeared to be calming down somewhat, thankfully.  
  
John waited a few minutes before letting go of his shoulders.  
  
“You’re good at that.” Bill commented.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Comforting people, you’re good at it. You should be a doctor when we’re done with this little escapade.”  
  
John just shrugged, “Why don’t you nap?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You haven’t slept yet. Dim can listen to the radio and I can keep an eye out.” John assured him.  
  
“Fine but wake me up if anything happens.”  
  
“As if I’d let you miss out on a thing?”

***

 **13:00 14th June, 1944. Villers-Bocage, France**  
  
“No feet.” John looked out the visions blocks. “This is sodding ridiculous. We were supposed to take care of this, easily.”  
  
“We’re pulling out.” Dim said to him.  
  
He looked over to see Sherlock still curled up on the floor. He was worried that this was the end of the line for the man. He had been lost in his head for hours now, without saying one word.  
  
“We’re getting out of here, Sherlock.” John reached out to him, touching his knee. “It’s going to be ok.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, seeming as if he finally snapped out of whatever he was doing.  
  
“I can’t wait to stand up!” Greg hollered with pure glee.  
  
“You all right to drive, Private?”  
  
“Fantastic, sir. I’ve a second wind.”  
  
John laughed and settled in for the short wait to roll out. It was very short compared to what they had just sat through.  
  
“We shouldn’t be so happy about withdrawing.” He reminded everyone.  
  
“Minor setback.” Bill said. “It’ll get better.”  
  
“I hope you’re right.”  
  
Of course they were the last ones to leave, the very last tank. John feared that the Jerries in Villers-Bocage wouldn’t let them go without a fight but thankfully he was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little story about tea for British Soldiers from FUBAR by Rottman: “Infantry sections and vehicle crews carried an essential “brew up kit” or “brew kit,” typically: packets of soluble tea or compressed compo “tea blocks”; sugar; powdered, evaporated, or condensed tinned milk; a book or box of matches; and biscuits, all carried in a 24-hour ration cellophane bag, grenade packing tube, Bren gun magazine pouch, or rifle bandoleer.The “char” was brewed up in a “Dixie” or former ration tin (called a “billy” by Australians) on a “Benghazi cooker,” a “Tommy cooker,” or a looted German Esbit cooker. Often a pair of men was assigned the duty to quickly brew up tea in a well-rehearsed drill during rest halts.” (FYI The 1st RTR was really making tea when John asked)
> 
> Side note: The men were practically stuck in their tanks for two days during this battle. If you watched the documentary I posted the links to you can see how terrible it must have been to be confined in such a small space.


	5. Time To Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 5th have a sometime off after a long, tough battle.

**15:00 14** ** th** **June, 1944.**

Sherlock stretched his still cramping legs out with a fag dangling from his mouth while he watched John. He was in a tight t-shirt and trousers (regulation, of course… Sherlock was left to wonder what the man looked like in everyday-wear, what his style was. He figured it was most likely conservative), laid out in the sun that he had been deprived of for days with a content look on his face. The man looked positively delicious with his golden skin and pleasant smile. Sherlock could hear the quiet murmur of conversation that he was having with Dimmock and Lestrade. They were all in a very good mood after finally being freed from the tank.

The regiment settled just outside a village that was far from the line but far enough. The Brass saw it right to give the men of the 7th Division a break from the action for a bit.  
  
They set up camp and now they were relaxing.

“All right, Ox?” Bill asked as he got closer.

“Yes, I apologize about my… moment in the tank.” He hated that he had that little breakdown. He had no idea his nerves were going to become so shot. It was practically torture. He was tempted to crawl out of the tank and let the Nazis shoot him at one point because it would have been preferable to sitting in those conditions any longer.

“We’ve all had those moments, believe me.” Murray said reassuringly.

“Yes, but I normally control myself.”

“War has a way of breaking down your walls and such.”

Sherlock did not like the sound of that.  
  
“Where was your moment, then?” He questioned the Lance Corporal, straying away from emotional babble that had to do with him.

“Mine was when we were in the desert out there my second week in active service. We barely had any water, it was so hot that I was sweating even from taking a simple breath, there was sand bloody every where, and I snapped. John got me to calm down then. He’s rather good at it, isn’t he?” The subtext Sherlock heard in Bill’s statement was a bit shocking.

“Are you saying he’s a good shag or a good person for comfort?”

“Both.” He chuckled. 

Sherlock gave him a skeptical look.

“Look, we got together when I first joined up. I’m not jealous, so don’t think that. I’ve a girl back in Blighty… It was a lark. We were bored and killing time as the other men were sleeping with prostitutes. I was worried about all that… anyway it was not like what he had with James. When James came into his life it was like his world was set on fire, in a good way. He looks at you, all moony, like he did with James.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“John’s my best mate, I don’t want to see him hurt again.”

“I was never planning on hurting John, not at all.”

“This is war, you don’t get to choose your own fate.”

“So, you’re saying that I should stop sleeping with him because if I get killed then John will get hurt?”

“I don’t know, I just fear what’s to happen if you did die.”

“John made it clear he was not to fall for me and I told him in no uncertain terms that it would not happen.”

“Funny, I’m fairly sure that it did happen.” Bill said in a loud whisper.

Sherlock scowled, taking a drag of his cigarette that he had nearly forgotten about. How could he have let that happen? It was impossible. He did not love John.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to him.”

“There’s nothing to say a word on.”

“I’m not too sure about that.”

“Well, ta. I’m going to go on a walk about town. I need to stretch my legs.” He dropped his cigarette and then stepped on it.

As he was walking away he heard footsteps coming after him, “Oi, Private Holmes.”

Sherlock glanced behind him to see John coming on his trail. He slowed a bit for him to catch up.

“Am I not allowed to wander, Sergeant?”

“No, you’re allowed to go into town. I just wanted to come with you, if that is all right? I need to move about a bit before I fall asleep or I’m afraid I’ll wake up sore.” He said to him as they walked at a leisurely pace. “Any reason you’re going into town?”

“No, I just wanted to see it.”

John just nodded.

“You wanted to trade again?”

John shook his head, “Not right now, actually. I don’t know if my body can take it.”

“Madness, of course your body can but I understand if you never want to do it again.”

“Why never again?” He cocked his head.

“After my display in the tank.”

“You couldn’t help it. We were all being pressed to the edge, the rest of us just have a bit more experience than you in the tank. It’s hellish at times but you’ll get used to it.” John cleared his throat. “I’m glad to see you’re not running off on me. I can’t have my crew filled in with some idiot.”

Sherlock felt himself smile at the last sentence, “You thought I was going to leave?”

“Sometimes people do if they don’t think that they can handle it.”

“I can do it now that I know what I have to contend with.” He spoke confidently. There was no way that he was going to give in and run off back home.

“If you can’t, you know that we can make arrangements for you to —”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ok.,” John nodded. “So you thought I wouldn’t sleep with you again because of what happened?”

“Well, I went a bit mad and it wasn’t any good.”

John shrugged, “It happens. I got you to calm down.”

“Yes, ah, thank you…That was… good.”

He was beginning to feel oddly attached to John and he did not like it. It must have been something to do with the environment of war. Everyone was saying that it built a certain camaraderie with the men around you. But how he felt towards John was different from how he felt to the other men in the tank. He was going to do his best to forget about it.

“Ha, you’re very welcome. I’ve seen it enough to deal with it.”

“I’m very good at dealing with my emotions. I doubt you believe me after that all.”

“I believe you, you just had a down moment.”

“A down moment.” Sherlock echoed.

“Any way, I’m happy we got through it. What did you end up thinking of?”

“Numerous things.”

“For instance…”

He spent some of his time in his mind palace the other day thinking of what John would be like at home, studying medicine. It’d be interesting to see him in a totally different environment. For some reason it was easy to place him back in his old dorm, reading his books and making notes in the margin. He would ask Sherlock to quiz him and then they would have sex.

Sherlock never thought of things like that, it was very out of the norm. But it was extremely relaxing.

He could never tell him that though, “I played a few pieces in my head, long pieces. I thought of my old dog. I played with him a lot as a child. They put him down when I was away at Harrow my last year.” Sherlock frowned but quickly got rid of it. “I also thought of the numerous experiments I’m going to conduct when I get home.”

“Good, I’m glad that it helped.”

“Yes, you did a very good job, John.”

The tips of John’s ears turned pink, “I hardly did a thing.”

“I do hope when we return home that you go to school.”

“I’ll be too old, won’t I?” John asked him.

“You’re going to waste too much.” Sherlock said softly. “I refuse to let you do that.”

“I didn’t know you had a stake in this.”

“I hate to see people waste their potential.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” John was challenging him.

Sherlock just glared at the other man.

“So, are you any good with the violin?”

He was happy with the subject change.

***

 **13:00 15** ** th** **June, 1944.**

Sherlock woke up the next morning on an uncomfortable cushion that was passed off as a mattress but forgot that he was at war before he opened his eyes to realize that there were four other men in his tent with him. The realization of where he was, was a bit sad but he got over it quickly.

They had what passed for breakfast and then set about to spending the entire day doing nothing once again. Apparently there was another storm on the English Channel so everything was being delayed until they could be properly resupplied. The 7th Division was already down about 30 tanks after the 1st RTR was ambushed in Villers-Bocage as his regiment was sitting on the hillside.

“We need to find Sherlock a violin.” John declared to the men.

Sherlock looked up from where he was lounging about on the ground to see John standing against the tank grinning.

“Where?”

“I don’t know but I’m going to be on the look out for one.” John sat next to him.

“John says you’re some type of child prodigy.” Bill lit another cigarette.

“Hardly.” He examined his nails beds.

“I never took you as the type for modesty.” Lestrade sat next to him.

“I don’t normally play for other people.” He explained. “I tend to just play for myself.” His playing only helped him think. His parents did try to get him to play for larger groups but he never found it something that he wanted to share.

“We’re going to get you to play for us at least.” John promised.

“Are you now? I didn’t know you had such powers over me.” 

“I’ll get you to do it once we find a violin. We could always use some entertainment right?”

Sherlock had been entertainment to others for sometime but it was always because he was some type of freak. But he had never been entertaining for anything good. Maybe things were different now. He had explained his deductions to the crew and none of them thought he was strange. They all listened raptly, John exclaiming how brilliant Sherlock was.

“I’m glad you think of me as entertainment.” He said, even though he was glad to be thought of nicely.

“If any of us had a sodding talent then I’d be after us.”

“What about your writing?” Sherlock asked. “You’re always jotting things down in that notebook of yours and I have a feeling it’s not experiments.”

John flushed, “It’s just what’s going on here. Its history, a good thing to document.”

Sherlock hummed in response.

“I’m not sharing it with any of you because it’s no one’s business.”

“Very well then,” Sherlock got up. “I’m off for a walk since we’ve been granted another day off.” He nodded at the other men before making his way through the camp. He knew many of the men around him but had little interest to convert with them. They did try to get to know him but he mostly shrugged them off.

“Mind if I join again?” John said as they got out on the path that Sherlock had taken to the village the other day but he headed in the other direction.

“No, its fine.”

“Great… ah… I wanted to tell you what happened to James.”

Sherlock looked at him curiously, “Why is that?”

“Because I feel like I should.” John said with confidence.

“All right then, go on.”

He took a deep breath, “It was in May 1943… a little over a year ago now. We were about to take Tunis, it was the end of the sodding war in North Africa. Ah, we had got out of the tank for a moment to confer with the other NCOs. When we went to climb back in, he let me go first and before he got in the tank a sniper took him out.”

“You think it should have been you?”

John nodded, “How can I not?”

“I guess I can understand how you feel that way but I would assume that maybe you should be thankful.”

“Thankful?” John shouted and threw his hands in the air. “I loved him.”

“Did you or was it because you were here, at war? Was that love or was it something else?”

“It was love, Sherlock.” He said with certainty. “And I lost the love of my life so I’m doomed to be alone.”

“You really believe there’s only one person for everyone?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous. There are far too many people on earth. Love is mostly chemistry, the rest is based off personalities.”

“You’ve never been in love then.”

“No.”

“What of that roommate you had in Oxford? What was his name?”

Sherlock frowned, “Victor, why are you bringing him up?”

“You said that you read something he recommend even though you never concerned yourself with reading anything other than factual stuff, yeah? I feel like you may have loved him.”

He snorted in response, “No, I did not. I merely tolerated Victor. We had sex, rather a lot of it, and we got on well. I don’t love people.” Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that if he let himself he could have loved Victor but never wanted to let himself. It was pointless to him.

“Sure you don’t.”

“I’m serious, John. You barely know me.”

“Why don’t you love people?”

“It’s too complicated, it makes things messy. Emotions are messy, you saw how horrible I was back in the tank. I don’t like those things getting in the way of my thinking.”

“You’re missing out on a lot.”

“Like the perpetual heartbreak that you seem to have.” Sherlock said to John’s profile. The Sergeant was clenching his fists and chewing at his bottom lip.

“But when you’re in love, it feels good.”

“Then you lose it. Then people die. People get bored."

“You’re just too young.”

“You act as if you’re so much older than me, you’re not.” He said as they came into view of the abandoned farmhouse he saw when they came in yesterday. At least he believed it to be abandoned.

“I am older than you. I’ve more life experience as well.”

“No, you have more army experience. You’ve missed out on real life.”

“This is real life, Sherlock.”

“I know that. I’m saying you’re missing the life that you should have. This sodding war has ruined everything.”

John sighed, following Sherlock into the grass.

“You would almost be a practicing doctor by now. Are you telling me that this life you have is better?”

“I don’t know. People don’t care if I’m queer here. They only care about killing Jerries. I thought they’d be more outspoken against people like us but its better here than back home. I don’t have to hide. When I go home, I will.”

“You could join the scene back in London.”

“I don’t belong there either. I don’t want to go around speaking slang and going to only clubs with people like us. I want to study, be a doctor, get a practice, and settle down with the man I love. I want to be sodding normal.”

“Normal is boring. The man you love, I thought you only had one love of your life.”

“I’m hoping, very much, that I’m wrong. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone. Then again I could die tomorrow when our tank blows up or I get shot when I’m going the bathroom.” He stopped in his tracks. “Sherlock, what are we doing here?”

“Investigating.”

“Investigating. You don’t know who lives here.”

“No one, judging by the state of the front of the lot. I’m believe they fled when the war started or maybe they moved far before that.” He said as he took the front steps to the house.

“You can’t go in there!” John was on his heels.

“Why not? It’s empty.” He peeked into the window.

Sherlock opened the door and went on to inspect the home. It was completely bare, minus a rug that was in the center of what was probably the sitting room and a few tea cups in the kitchen.

“There were four, possibly five former residents.” He said to John as they went up the stairs.

“You’re ridiculous. Why are we here?” He whispered.

“You don’t have to do that, you can talk normally. There’s no one here but us.” He looked into the loo.

“We still shouldn’t be doing this. If we’re caught —”

“We won’t be caught.” He muttered, moving to another room. There really was nothing to see so Sherlock turned back and went down the stairs.

“We’re getting out of here now, Private.”

“John, must you talk to me like that when we’re alone? There’s no danger, we’re not in a battle situation. This isn’t work. This is a break. Enjoy it.”

“Army is our life.”

“You don’t call me Private all the time, only when you want me to do something.” Sherlock told him as the stepped back into the sitting room.

He really didn’t want to leave, he very much wanted to have sex with John again and an empty house seemed like the ideal place.

John was looking at him funny.

“What?”

“Do you think that I treat you different than the others?”

“No, you treat me the same, with the exception of us having sex.”

“We did that twice.”

“Soon to be three.”

“Soon to be three?” John repeated in faked disbelief as Sherlock crowded him against a wall.

“Yes. But you treat everyone equally and only become serious when things are serious. You’re not like the other NCO’s but that does not mean you’re not respected. Actually, you’re probably more respected than the others because you don't throw your weight around.”

“We need to get out of here.” John’s hands fell to Sherlock’s hips.

“I don’t think that we really do.”

“If we get —”

“We won’t.” Sherlock assured him before swopping down for a kiss.

He enjoyed kissing John, a lot. There was something nice about his mouth. It was familiar even when they had first kissed. Sherlock hated to sound poetic but it was if they were meant to be together. He didn’t believe in all that. It was very possible that he was falling in love with John Watson.

“Get your kit off.” John pulled away.

Sherlock was delighted. He was going to finally get to do this when he could see John in the light as well as completely naked.

“Yes, sir.” He smirked, stripping out of his uniform. He was so sick of wearing the same bloody thing every day.

John laughed as he got his boots off, leaning against the wall.

Once they were both free of all of their clothes he pulled John close and wrestled him to the floor, “Hey!” John struggled to the get upper hand.

Sherlock was very skilled in hand to hand combat but it seemed that John was very strong. Somehow he flipped them so Sherlock was on his back with John’s legs straddling his thighs and his hands pinned down his shoulders.

“You’re not so smart, are you?”

“I could get of out this but I rather like you naked and on top of me. You’re rather fit.”

John kissed him with force. Sherlock could taste blood. He felt himself moan as John rutted against him, both of there cocks hardening at the contact. He wanted to pin John down and explore his body but he couldn’t be arsed to do so because John’s weight on top of him felt good.

***

They returned back to camp about two hours later. Sherlock was very satisfied and John seemed to be as well. They had shagged and then napped before waking up and chatting about Sherlock’s old experiments and then went another round.

When they got to camp the crew was playing poker with another one of the tank crews. Bill gave John the look that he had been giving him to convey that John was possibly making a mistake. Dimmock commented on Sherlock’s hair being a mess, without even realizing the type of activity that would lead it to be so.

They joined in the game and played until dinner. 

After some of the men got drunk and were singing. John sat next to Sherlock by their tank, watching the ruckus. He didn’t think about how nice it felt for John to be pressed up against his side but he did think about how nice it would be if the rest of the war had been like that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay but I had some major writer's block/no motivation to do any editing then I had a terrible head cold and couldn't think. But yay, here's the new chapter! I have a few more that I need to edit but I need to start writing again so I'll wait to post those.


	6. Operation Goodwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have a discussion about religion before a battle.

**16:00 18th July, 1944. Bretteville-sur-Laize, France.**  
  
John got out on to the turret to see what was going on. They had been sitting in a traffic jam as they attempted to cross the Orne River as they continued to move past Caen, which they had finally taken. If they could get past the bridgehead then they would be into the open countryside and out of the sodding bocage. Normandy was basically a killing field and soldiers and tanks were being taken down in great numbers. At this rate it was going to take years to drive the Germans back to their homeland and far too many lives were going to be lost.  
  
Luckily for John his troop had not been effected by the deaths like the rest of the 5th RTR. He was able to keep everyone alive and well enough to continue the fight. They had a few good battles under their belts after the disaster at Villers-Bocage and their morale had improved by leaps and bounds. John wanted to keep it that way and hoped for the best that Operation Goodwood was going to go well. If they could get through this, then they would be in a very good position to finally take Caen and move on through France and beyond.  
  
“This is boring.” Sherlock said, sitting on top of the tank with John. Dim had taken over the radio so Sherlock could get some air.  
  
“Yes, well, you know, hurry up and wait.” John looked out to the tanks in front of him.  
  
“I’m sick of that saying.” He huffed before reaching for his cigarette case. “I thought we’re supposed to be moving in.”  
  
“We’re the last to roll through. Hopefully we’ll just be doing clean up,” He frowned as cannons blasted in the distance.  
  
“Normally you’re so interested in a fight.” Sherlock eyed him.  
  
“I know but I’m getting sick of seeing good men die.” He explained to Sherlock. “I’m probably just having a bit of a crisis.”  
  
“You don’t want me to die.”  
  
John nodded, “Of course I don’t. I don’t want any of you to die.”  
  
“I don’t want you to die either.” He spoke softly.  
  
Their relationship had started to develop into something that John wanted to avoid. He felt like he was falling in love with the man. Sherlock was brilliant and kept him captivated for hours on end. He could be a bit strange but John rather liked the strange. They were always chatting or sitting next to each other in compatible silence. They were constantly trying to find time to sneak off to have sex and then afterwards they would spend time cuddled up against one another. It seemed to surpass the normal battlefield friendship. John was sure that he had loved James before Sherlock came along but he felt differently for Sherlock than James.  
  
John almost hated it. If losing James was so hard then losing Sherlock was going to be worse if it happened.  
  
“We’re in the wrong line of work then, aren’t we?” He lit Sherlock’s fag for him.  
  
“Mmm, I would say so but I have a lot of faith in my commander.”  
  
“I don’t want you putting too much faith in me.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t actually have faith in anything. Things just happen due to certain events, some of which we are able to control and some of which we are not due to various factors. I trust in science and that’s as much as I can do. I was just saying that as something to say.”  
  
“You can go through life like that? Without faith?” John asked, not understanding that Sherlock could not believe in anything.  
  
“Why should I blindly trust in something?”  
  
“I… I don’t know, it helps.”  
  
“Helps what?” Sherlock inquired.  
  
“To deal with everything that’s going on around us.” John threw his hands out in front of him as if it would make his point come across clearer. “Death, destruction… I need to look to something when everyone near me is dying. It also scares me to not think that there is something greater than me.”  
  
“Why though?”  
  
“It just seems empty that way.”  
  
“That’s stupid. There’s plenty going on around you, it is not an empty place. There’s plenty to do without having to talk to a faceless god.”  
  
“Do you think that life is  pointless then? That we’re not… I don’t know… meant to do something greater?”  
  
“I don’t believe my life is pointless. There are things to discover, to do. What we do now will change the future, just as the past has influenced us.”  
  
“But why?” He pushed with the broad question.  
  
“Because one day we crawled out of the ocean and started to use tools. We’ve evolved because that’s what we’ve done.”  
  
“Why?” John continued to ask.  
  
Sherlock shrugged, “Science… because that’s just how it is. Does there need to be a why?”  
  
“I don’t disagree with science but don’t you think there’s something out there that has a plan for us?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“If there’s not a why then what are we doing here?”  
  
“I told you, we’re advancing.”  
  
“But why?”  
  
Sherlock snorted a laughed.  
  
John was getting frustrated with him, “Okay then what about the after life, then? Are you telling me there’s nothing?”  
  
“I don’t have data for that, so I can’t answer you.”  
  
“There has to be something.” He said firmly because he really didn’t want to think of nothingness for eternity. Then again he wouldn’t know if there was nothing…  
  
“You really believe in heaven and hell, don’t you?”  
  
“Yes, or some kind of afterlife at least.” He nodded as he took Sherlock’s cigarette from him for a drag.  
  
“You really want to do something for an eternity.”  
  
“Hopefully something nice.”  
  
“You’ve killed men, isn’t that one of those things?”  
  
“Yeah but—”  
  
“You believe that there is a god who would let all these terrible things happen in the world? War, famine, hate?”  
  
“There’s good and evil. It’s a war, there’s always going to be battles.”  
  
“What happens when the battle ends?”  
  
“I don’t know. What if it never ends?”  
  
“That’s stupid, everything ends. One day it would come to a close. One would win and one would loose, what would happen? If good won, do you believe that everyone on earth would transcend to the heavens and the bad to hell?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
“What of the bad? Would earth be turned into some type of labor camp for the evil overlords?”  
  
“I have no idea, I don’t have those answers. Like you said, I don’t have enough data.”  
  
Sherlock took his fag back with a glare, “This god, he hates you, doesn’t he? A man shouldn’t be lying with another man, doesn’t the bible say something like that?”  
  
“The bible was written by man a very long time ago.”  
  
“So you don’t believe in it?”  
  
“I have problems with organized religion.” John said. “Religion has started plenty of wars and have made people do things they probably shouldn’t have in the name of some god. Why would you do evil for something that’s supposed to be good?”  
  
Sherlock looked thoughtful, considering it, “So what are you?”  
  
“I know I’ve said this a lot in this conversation but I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just believe that there’s a greater being out there who has plans for me. I don’t think I’m wandering around looking for a path because there’s one out in front of me that I’m following for a reason. I don’t know the reason but there is one. I also like the idea of praying and being able to talk to someone all the time.”  
  
“You’re a very interesting man, John Watson.” He smiled at him warmly, tossing his cigarette out.  
  
“I thought you’d be angry with me for believing in something like a god.”  
  
“You also believe in science and you’re not tied into ancient and outdated religious practices and texts. You’re very much your own person and I enjoy that.” Sherlock explained.  
  
“I’m sure I’m not alone or very interesting.”  
  
“You’re not alone but you are unique and interesting.” Sherlock looked as if he was about to kiss him so John turned his face away. He could still feel Sherlock’s eyes on him. “You know, you don’t have to pray to talk to someone or something. You can talk to me. As you know, I enjoy talking but I also enjoy listening to you as well.”  
  
John reached over and rubbed his thumb across Sherlock’s knuckles, “It’s a bit different but thank you.”  
  
“You don’t ask it to do things for you, do you?”  
  
He laughed and took his hand away, hoping that no one had saw him. “I ask for strength, sometimes, to get through situations.”  
  
“You get through them on your own.”  
  
“I like thinking I have some back up.”  
  
“I can also be your back up, though I’d rather leading.”  
  
John chuckled and he felt oddly lucky to have Sherlock Holmes in his life.

***

 **21:00 19th July, 1944. Just outside of Caen, France**  
  
It was the biggest tank attack in the history of the British army and John could see it as they advanced through each village. Just like D-Day they had missed the first day, thanks to the traffic jam. John was hoping the German’s offensive would have been taken back quite a bit with the air raid that had preceded the mission but it didn’t seem so. There were anti-tank guns everywhere, hidden in the woods and houses.  
  
The 5th RTR was the last to roll through and there were overturned tanks all over the place. It made John’s stomach roll a bit. John spotted a whole squad of Shermans knocked out. Tanks and bodies littered the land. The air smelled like burning flesh and metal. He felt as if his chances were dwindling even more. The conversation with Sherlock from the day before was ringing through his head.  
  
As they made their way across a field he heard a loud boom and looked behind him, as he was sitting on the top turret so he could see better that way. He looked behind him just in time to see Corporal Gregerson’s Cromwell go up in flames. There was another sound of the anti-tank gun tearing through the air and John winced but thankfully it didn’t hit a thing and the squadron behind him was aiming for the German gun. He focused on making his way to the village in front of him.  
  
After a long, hard battle. The Allies lost 400 tanks in battle but over took the high ground even though they had to pull out due to the fact they never got any feet. The Allies took many German prisoners and destroyed numerous German tanks, but not as many as the Germans had ruined for them.  
  
John was lucky to make it through without a scratch to him and his men. He felt like his luck was running out though and he did not like that one bit. He had made it through Africa, Italy, and now he was fighting through France. There was only a few men left that had made it through as much as he had. The ones he started with or were there with him to begin with had been killed or been moved to other assignments.  
  
When they finally got a moment to rest John pulled Sherlock aside and kissed him, without the intent of sex. Once he pulled away Sherlock looked at him funny, “What?”  
  
“You’re feeling like you shouldn’t be alive? You think you’re lucky.”  
  
“That’s a good guess.” John nuzzled his neck as Sherlock leaned back against the tree. He smelt good, like the tank and just… Sherlock.  
  
“You know that I hardly ever guess.”  
  
“How are you? Are you ok?”  
  
“Yes, John, I’m fine. I’ve learned to deal with all of this.”  
  
“Good, that’s good.” John mumbled  
  
“You’re not lucky, John. You’re smart.” Sherlock tentatively stroked his hand through John’s hair.  
  
He nodded and thought about how this was not good at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the existential crisis but I feel like the whole god conversation would come up with John and Sherlock if they were in this situation. Hopefully that wasn’t too painful to get through, I’m sure most people have had their own inner debates about religion/afterlife/ect, this was apparently mine… I also hope I didn’t offend anyone.
> 
> Something that I thought should be shared about Operation Goodwood, that was in an episode of Tank Battles… The Germans held a ridge where they could see up to Caen in the north so part of the goal was for the Allies wanted to take St. Andre at the bottom of the ridge. It was reported that there was 60 tanks in the village of St. Andre. When there were reports like that they assumed there were less so the Allies sent in like 13 tanks I believe. The village ended up having some 88 tanks hidden in woods and buildings so you can guess how that went.


	7. To Ghent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 5th RTR makes their way to Belgium. When in Ghent Sherlock gets to play the violin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Terms To Know:**  
>  Crib: Complain  
> Browned off: Bored

**14:00 1st September, 1944. France**  
  
The Allies had finally taken Normandy on the 25th of August.   
  
Sherlock could barely comprehend the amount of lives lost on both sides. Death was a apart of war but it seemed senseless some days. They were fighting the war to defend the UK and the rest of Europe from Hitler. There was a reason for it all but at points Sherlock found himself wondering why he was there. He could understand why John and other men turned to god or spirituality in times like that. Sherlock still liked rely on reason and science over that though.  
  
But today was not one of those days because they were rolling through French countryside, with not a soul around aside from Allied tanks. Their goal was now to liberate the city of Ghent in Belgium and so far, so good.  
  
“Sodding rain.” John said over the soft putter of the rain and quiet hum of the tank’s engine.   
  
The sounds had been relaxing to Sherlock as he sat and thought.   
  
“Bloody hot as hell too. This humidity is terrible.”   
  
It was terrible but bearable. At least they could pop out the hatch every so often for fresh air. He liked doing it in the rain as well.  
  
John had become a problem. Well, his feelings for the man had become a problem. He wanted to be with the man all the time. Sherlock promised not to fall for him and vise versa. He was obviously failing. They were both completely smitten but they were doing their best to carry on and ignore it. John did not want another “James” incident and Sherlock really did not want a boyfriend. Meanwhile, Bill was trying his hardest in pointing out every little thing that they were doing that seemed like a couple.  
  
“Sergeant, are you going to crib the rest of the way to Ghent?” Bill questioned.  
  
He just hummed, clearly woolgathering.  
  
“He’s browned off.” Sherlock drawled. “I am as well, all I’ve been looking at is countryside for ages.”  
  
“I miss my girl.” Lestrade stretched up to look at them. Dim had taken over driving for now.  
  
“I miss London.” Sherlock took his beret off.  
  
“Do you have a girl back home, Ox?”  
  
He snorted, “I’m gay, Lestrade. Not the type of gay that plates other men or receives it when they’re in the army. If I had a girl back home it would be a massive lie and lying for that long is just so tedious when there's no real end deal.”  
  
“Plate?” Bill moved to look at him.  
  
“It means to fellate.” John answered him off handily.  
  
“I just blew our cover.” Sherlock frowned to himself.  
  
“Cover?”  
  
“I tried teaching John Polari to fool you all when we sneak off to have sex.”  
  
“Oi!” He snapped his head around to Sherlock.  
  
“We all know you’re getting together, Sergeant. It’s not a big deal.” Dim shouted up to him.  
  
“So what’s this Polari?”  
  
“It’s the language we speak to avoid you straight people from understanding us. I won’t be teaching you.” Sherlock explained to Bill.  
  
“But you said you tried to teach John.” Dimmock said.  
  
“Because I’m not straight, Dim.”  
  
“Oh, so you’re… oh, I thought all those things—”  
  
“Is that a problem, Private?”  
  
“No, of course not.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“So Ox, how do you know this language?”  
  
“I spent an extensive amount of time emerging myself into the culture. It was rather fascinating.”  
  
“So do you have a bloke back home, then?”  
  
Sherlock laughed, “No, relationships are not my area.”  
  
“What do you have with Doc then?”  
  
He was unsure of how to answer that but thankfully John spoke up, “It’s not really your business, though, is it?” he inquired.  
  
“Sorry.” Lestrade said quietly.  
  
“What is this culture like?”  
  
“Pubs, theater, rent boys…” Sherlock shrugged.  
  
“Did you ever have a rent boy?”  
  
“No but I was mistaken for one from time to time.” He smiled at John.  
  
“I’m sure.” The Sergeant snickered. “You probably were a massive flirt.”  
  
“I was mostly just observing.” Sherlock pulled a face. “I am not a massive flirt.”  
  
“If the wind changes, you’re going to get stuck like that.” He teased.  
  
“You don’t do relationships? You never had a boyfriend?”  
  
“No, I did spend quite a bit of time with a few men but I wasn’t emotionally attached. One of them actually spent some time in Berlin previous to the Nazis coming into power. Before Hitler came along the scene there was very vibrant, better than London from what I understand.” The man was boring but very good in bed so he listened to his gabbing.  
  
“Before Hitler came to power he was over there? When did you meet him? You’re nineteen, how old was he?” John scratched behind his ear.  
  
“A few years back, I was sixteen.” He was the third man he had slept with. The other two were his age and horrible at everything.  
  
“And he was…”  
  
“Thirty. He thought I was twenty. He was a writer and I pretended to be studying literature.” Sherlock told John, who was not impressed.  
  
“Sherlock Holmes, seductress.” Bill wiggled his eyebrows. “Or is that just for woman?”  
  
“So is that what you do? Go around seducing older men?” John asked playfully, dropping whatever he had felt a moment before.  
  
“I’m rather good at it, as you know.”  
  
“Is that your future after this all? Picking up blokes in pubs?”  
  
“No, I’m very much done with that scene.”  
  
“You are? John, are you a lucky man?”  
  
Sherlock felt his cheeks flush because he had thought about what life might be like with John in London.  
  
“No, no, no, I did not mean it like that. I mean that I’m not interested in returning to the scene, I want to find some work to do when I get back.”  
  
“You’re going to be celibate?”  
  
“No but I won’t be spending much time in those pubs and such when I get back.”  
  
“Because of John.” Dimmock accused him.  
  
“Will you lot nack it?”  
  
“I thought we were entertaining you with this discussion.” Bill said to John.  
  
“There’s some movement out on the right.” John announced to the tank. Sherlock thought he was avoiding the whole conversation but he looked out the vision block to see what John was talking about.  
  
It was nothing, just a deer.

***

 **21:00 3rd September, 1944. Belgium**  
  
John rested back against the tree, “I wish we could have a shag lying down again. If we ever get time off, that’s what we’re going to do.”  
  
“You want to cuddle.” Sherlock nuzzled his neck as he stroked John’s sides. “You like cuddling post-coital.”  
  
“I do, is that horribly boring?”  
  
He shrugged, “It could be but I don’t completely hate it.”  
  
“Because of me?”  
  
Sherlock didn’t answer him. He just nipped at a spot of flesh close to his mouth.  
  
“You’ve really never been in a relationship?”  
  
“We had this conversation, days ago.” He complained, pulling away before sitting down and dragging John with him. They arranged themselves so Sherlock was sitting between John’s legs and he slouched down to lean back against the shorter man. He enjoyed indulging John’s predilection for cuddling.  
  
There was a possibility that something was terribly wrong with him because he never enjoyed indulging others before.  
  
“I know but I feel like you’re leaving something out. You know everything there is to know about me and the rest of the lads but I don’t know much about you.”  
  
“That’s because I’m not obvious.” He sniffed.  
  
“I know that you play the violin and have a poetic soul, even if you attempt to be cold and scientific all the time.”  
  
“I’ve told you of the violin and just because I’ve recited one poem, it does not make me poetic.”  
  
John made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh, “You told me before that you only hold on to certain information.”  
  
Sherlock squirmed a bit because he wished he could purge all the things Victor had told him and he had done with Victor. For some reason he wanted to keep him. He had enjoyed his time with the man so much it was irritating. Though, it was not nearly as irritating as he felt for John.  
  
“You shagged a writer and a literature major, certainly you like poetry and words. You’re not all science and numbers like you pretend.” John pressed his lips to his neck.  
  
He scoffed, “I’ve shagged more people than just writers and people interested in poetry.”  
  
“And you never went steady with any of them?”  
  
“No, of course not.”  
  
“Not even Victor?”  
  
“Why are you so persistent about this?”  
  
“I don’t know, I like getting to know you.”  
  
“You’re still doing that? We’ve known one another for over four months now.” Sherlock attempted to change the subject.  
  
“We are not all as bloody brilliant as you are.” He brushed his lips over Sherlock’s ear.  
  
He shivered at the contact and wished that John couldn’t do that to him, “You… you should work on that if you’re going to be a doctor.”  
  
“I may not be so clever but I believe we were talking about something else… Victor if I remember correctly.”  
  
Sherlock shifted a bit, trying to get comfortable but the only way he would be comfortable was if he ran from the conversation. “He loved me and I could not love him.”  
  
“You don’t love people.”  
  
“I’ve never seen a reason to.”  
  
John’s silence said far more to Sherlock than any words would have. He could not understand how he was letting this man in and why. It had to be something about the conditions of war, that was the only explanation.  
  
He didn’t want John to know about his feelings, “Love gets in the way and sentimentality is useless.”  
  
“But it can be nice.”  
  
“You choose to believe in it, like you believe in some higher power.”  
  
“Gives life meaning.”  
  
“And heartbreak but we’ve had this conversation before. Is it possible that four months together has made us repeat ourselves?”  
  
John laughed, “Ha, no. It’s possible that we have yet to finish either conversation.”  
  
Sherlock frowned, “Everything ends, John, why hold on to another person or to anything at all out of sentimentality?”  
  
“You’ll understand if you ever fall for someone.” John assured him. “We should go back to camp. The lads will be worried about us if we don’t get back there soon.”  
  
“Just as I was getting comfortable.”  
  
“Sorry,” John smiled against his neck. “I’d very much enjoy staying here like this all night but that’d be a bit not good.”  
  
“Fine.” Sherlock got off the ground.  
  
“I would…” John trailed off, looking out into the dark woods.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing.” He smiled before hopping up to his feet. “I could do with some tea.”  
  
Sherlock was curious what the other man had thought but he let it go.

***

 **12:00 5th August, 1944. Ghent, Belgium**  
  
They rolled through Ghent without incident.   
  
Girls were jumping on the tanks, kissing the soldiers. Sherlock decided to stay in the tank because he really didn’t feel like being kissing by these random girl but it was really a sight to see these people so excited about their liberation. He filed it away in this mind palace.  
  
“Come on, we’re having tea.” John ducked down into the tank. He was grinning from ear to ear. John loved being involved in something that was for the greater good.  
  
“Are they going to kiss me?”  
  
He threw his head back and laughed, “I don’t know, they might.”  
  
The Private scrunched his nose, “I’d much rather stay in here.”  
  
“Come on, there’s a group playing some instruments down the way. Maybe one of the blokes will let you play their violin.”  
  
Sherlock perked up, “You think so?”  
  
“They’re more than bloody chuffed that we’re here and the Jerries are gone, they would probably give you their first born if you asked.”  
  
It’s been far too long since he had his violin and he missed it so much. He dreamt of the feeling of the strings under his fingers. The weight on his shoulder. The smell of rosin on the bow…  
  
John clearly knew how to get Sherlock to do things that he didn’t really want to, “Fine.”  
  
“Brilliant, come along.”  
  
He followed the Sergeant out of the tank and through the throngs of celebrating Belgians, “Hey, Ox!” Dimmock and Lestrade caught up to them. “This is something, huh?”  
  
“Very descriptive.” He muttered as they reached a string quartet. They had just finished a piece and everyone around them was cheering.  
  
“Does anyone speak English?” John asked the group.  
  
“Yes, I do.” The man with the viola said.  
  
John grinned, “My mate here plays the violin but doesn’t have one. We were hoping he could borrow one of yours so he could show us his talent.”  
  
The man said something to the two with violins and one of them nodded, handing the violin and its bow right over.  
  
“Mendelssohn, Number six in F minor Opus 80?” He asked Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock, without a word, tucked the violin into the crook of his neck and raised the bow. Mendelssohn wasn’t his favorite but he knew it well enough to play with the other men. He closed his eyes and sank into the music. He forgot about the others surrounding him and the thunderous celebration that was occurring. All he could hear was his violin, he didn’t even register the other players.  
  
The piece came to an end and as the last note hung in the air he opened to eyes. John was standing a few steps away from him, staring with wonder. Sherlock’s stomach felt light under his gaze.  
  
“Yours.” The man who owned the violin said, touching his shoulder.  
  
“No, I couldn’t.” Sherlock shook his head.  
  
The man said something in Dutch and he looked to the viola player.  
  
“He says that you must take it. It brings him much joy to hear you play. It brings us all joy.”  
  
Sherlock looked down at the violin and then back to the owner of it, “Thank you… that’s… ah… Thank you.”  
  
“That’s the first time he’s ever said those words.” John smiled. “I think you should repay the man by playing another.”  
  
Sherlock nodded, deciding on what piece to play.

***

Later that night Sherlock was sitting against the tank with John. He was resting with the violin on his lap.  
  
“Has anyone told you how attractive you are when you play?” John spoke without looking at him.  
  
Sherlock turned to him and cocked and eyebrow, “What?”  
  
“You’re very handsome when you play. You go into your own world.” John shut his notebook that he had been writing in.  
  
“And you find that attractive?”  
  
“I find a lot of what you do attractive.” John said quietly, almost shy.  
  
Sherlock plucked at the strings, unsure of what to say.  
  
“Will you play that all the time now?”  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
John looked around then moved over and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips.


	8. A Quiet November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 5th has a quiet November operation-wise but that doesn't mean nothing happened.

**13:00 15th November, 1944. River Maas, Holland**  
  
Following the liberation of Ghent the Allies fought forward, pushing the Jerries out of Belgium and into Holland. The 5th was given orders to clear the enemy from the Maas River and advance on Emelhuen. It was difficult to navigate, as it was thickly wooded and had large fields that were surrounded by dykes. John almost hated it as much as he hated the sodding bocage in France. But the 5th managed and pushed on.  
  
That was October and they were now midway through November. Before they moved into positions on the Maas they had been staying in Dutch houses, out of the cold. They spent ten days resting and recovering. John spent a lot of his free time listening to Sherlock play violin because watching and hearing Sherlock play was one of the most amazing things he had ever witnessed. When he wasn’t listening to the violin the two were sneaking into places to shag because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself around the man.  
  
He hated that he was in love with bloody Sherlock. It was not good. The way he felt for Sherlock left him to wonder if he truly loved James because it was a very different thing but there was a lot of the same feelings. John didn’t really understand.  
  
The man could be a dick and a know-it-all but he was much more than that. He could talk to Sherlock for hours on end about everything. He was brilliant and he could be so sweet and funny in private moments.  
  
He was kicking himself for falling for him when he said that he wouldn’t. John was positive that Sherlock felt the same way for him but because he promised John not to fall for him, he seemed to be ignoring it.  
  
The rest was over and they had been sent to the line but there was little engagement for the 5th RTR. The other day some of the division had gone out on a mission and only one man came back without being wounded or killed. But the 5th still had all the men they had come in with.  
  
John and his troop were apart of the team sent to town to retrieve supplies for the rest of the regiment.  
  
“Fag?” Sherlock held out his case as the left the post office. John needed to post Harry a birthday letter.  
  
“Thanks.” John plucked two out then handed one to Sherlock before reaching for his lighter  
  
“Let me.” The Private took John’s ronson from him.  
  
“Why do you like my lighter so much?” He was always taking it from John and just fiddling with it. Sherlock seemed to like tracing on the JHW that was engraved in the middle of it.  
  
“I like how it feels in my hands.” The other man explained as he lit John’s cigarette.  
  
“Mmm, I see.” He watched Sherlock.  
  
They started to walk back to the tank, “We haven’t seen action in over two weeks now.” Sherlock complained.  
  
“I know, I’m getting a bit bored. I mean, it’s bloody great that no one is in danger but I need to be doing something.”  
  
“You love being shot at, don’t lie.” He said teasingly.  
  
John grinned, “It’s not the being shot at, it’s the thrill of the whole battle.”  
  
“Especially the winning and the getting shot at.” Sherlock said as they got into sight of the tank.  
  
There was a group of infantry men chatting with some of the blokes of the 5th that had joined along John’s troop for the little supply mission.  
  
“Why, if it’s not Sherlock Holmes…” One of the men said. He was tall and blonde, posh looking.  
  
“Ugh.” The rat-faced looking one said.  
  
“Bloody hell.” Sherlock muttered and flicked his cigarette. He was not pleased at all to see these men.  
  
“Who’s that?” John prodded.  
  
“Someone I went to Harrow with and someone who I did basic with.”  
  
“Hey, freak, aren’t you going to say hello?”  
  
“What’d you call him, Private?” John marched up the rat-faced one. He stood in front of him, drawing himself up as tall as possible.  
  
The arsehole rolled his eyes.  
  
“They’re ruddy feet, Sergeant, you’re wasting your breath.” Dust said behind him somewhere. “They probably should be somewhere else but got lost.”  
  
“I called him a freak, that’s what he is.”  
  
“Can tell you about your whole life by the state of your shoes.” The posh one said.  
  
“Freak.” The other said as if it explained Sherlock.  
  
“What makes you think that you can speak about others like that?”  
  
“He’s a freak, it doesn’t matter.”  
  
“You should learn some new vocabulary,” John stepped back calmly and then decked the bloke.  
  
He didn’t mean it to cause a brawl but that’s exactly what happened. There were punches flying and shouting from both sides. John ended up with his fists cut up and a black eye before some officers came over and broke up the fight.  
  
“The filthy fifth, at it again, are you?” The Captain said.  
  
John bit his tongue because he wanted to ask where they would have got in Africa without the 5th. He figured Captain Nichols was going to have enough to reprimand him on as it was so he shut up.  
  
“You lot are always getting up to things.” He shook his head.  
  
The Captain took their identification and sent them off on their way.  
  
When they got inside the tank Sherlock shoved his shoulder, “Were you defending my sodding honor, John Watson? Shall I swoon like a Victorian maiden?”  
  
“No one talks about my men like that.”  
  
“That wasn’t because you thought you had to defend me because we’ve slept together?”  
  
It may have been a little but it was not the main reason. Sherlock may be harsh to most but no one had the right to call him a freak, “No.”  
  
“Yeah, he probably would have done it if you two weren’t shagging.” Billy commented. “Also, that twat deserved to be chinned.”  
  
“That was Anderson. I went through basic training with him and he was a complete idiot, as you can tell.”  
  
“At least use some other words than freak. I still would have chinned him but it may have been less annoying, just a bit, if he was creative about it.”  
  
“He can’t get creative,” Sherlock scoffed. “He doesn’t have enough brain cells to do so.”  
  
“I’m sorry you had to spend any amount of time with that twat.” Bill glanced back to Sherlock. “I hope he gets shot.”  
  
John whacked Bill upside the helmet.  
  
“Oi! Did you not get enough punches in back there?”  
  
“You don’t wish for anyone to get shot, do you understand me Corporal?”  
  
“Yes,” Bill sighed. “Are you afraid of bad luck?”  
  
John just glared at him, “He’s fighting the same battle you are. You can punch him all you want but don’t wish for him to get shot by a Jerry.”  
  
Bill nodded but looked thoughtful, “What if I shot him, just in the foot or something?”  
  
John heard Sherlock snicker behind him.  
  
“You’re not shooting anyone on your own side.”  
  
“Just a bit of friendly fire if I see him out there…”  
  
John rolled his eyes, “No.”  
  
“Oh, John, don’t be so boring.” Sherlock said.  
  
“Boring? I just started a fight back there. I can’t believe you lot sometimes.” John looked out his vision block with a grin.

***

Later that night Sherlock and he were huddled up with one another against the tank. Sherlock needed air so John decided to join him out of the hull for a bit. He really didn’t want to sit out in the cold air but he couldn’t stand sitting in the tank any longer either.  
  
They had been reprimanded earlier by Captain Nichols, who was disappointed in John for starting a brawl with the two twats from the infantry. But they didn’t get any type of punishment because Nichols said he probably would have done the same if someone was insulting his men.  
  
“Do you get treated like that a lot?” John asked quietly after they had shared a fag in silence.  
  
“My whole life. People do not like things that are different and I am very different from the general population. I’m queer. I’m brilliant—”  
  
“And so modest.”  
  
“That is apart of my problem, don’t think I don’t know that. You probably believe that it’s my fault because you think I can be a bit of a dick at times but for the most part, it’s the others who start things.”  
  
John frowned because he didn’t like thinking about Sherlock being treated badly. He was sure that it was a part of the reason why Sherlock seemed distant at times and why he didn’t like feelings or get into relationships. He was clearly putting up some type of defense. He probably wasn’t always so guarded but learned eventually that he needed to be.  
  
“To be honest I never had friends until this whole thing.” Sherlock shrugged as if he wasn’t bothered by the fact. “You lot are the first to not treat me like some odd being.”  
  
John nodded, taking a hold of Sherlock’s hand under the blanket that they had around them. He wasn’t sure why he had done it. It was like some sort of instinct to say that he was there.  
  
“I thought Sebastian,” The posh one, “was a friend at one point but I came to realize that he was using me to cheat in classes.”  
  
“Arsehole.”  
  
“Sadly he was the first person I slept with.”  
  
John’s stomach flopped, clearly why he didn’t get involved with others.  
  
“Then when I confronted him about the whole cheating scandal he told the whole house I forced him to have sex. Which, is completely ridiculous because he was the one to come on to me and fucked me.”  
  
He could feel his blood pressure going up, “I should have punched him.”  
  
Sherlock laughed, “That would definitely being be defending my honor.”  
  
“I don’t bloody care. You don’t do that type of stuff to people without some recourse.”  
  
“You are amazing, John.” Sherlock leaned his head on John’s shoulder. “A true wonder.”  
  
“You have mates, your crew here, we’re all your mates. We’re not faking it. I’m not having you on either, I like you. Quite a lot, actually. Even when you’re being a bit of a dick.”  
  
Sherlock just stayed quiet for a while, probably pondering on the that John had said he liked him. John wasn’t positive that he should have said that but it could have been taken as he liked him as a friend. It didn’t have to mean anything else but the way it was worded certainly would lead him to that.  
  
“I can tell you all are being genuine. At first thought you all were just being nice because you had to deal with me all the time but I can tell that it’s more than just putting up with me. It’s very odd.”  
  
“You’re interesting and you can be funny. You have a lot of good things going on for you. Just because you can be a dick doesn’t mean that people can’t be your friend. Even Hitler has friends… not the best example.”  
  
“I do hope you’re not comparing me to him.” Sherlock gaped at him.  
  
“No! Not at all!” John squeezed his hand. “That was a very stupid thing to say, wasn’t it?”  
  
Sherlock chuckled, “Yes but I’m not completely angry with you. I know you were trying to make a point, you just didn’t sell it well. I’m sure there are other people you could think of to make that example if you thought about it long enough.”  
  
“I apologize.” John glanced around to make sure no one could see him before pressing his lips to Sherlock’s.  
  
“I wish I could have you right here.” The other man whispered before kissing John.  
  
“Too bloody cold. Too many layers. Too many people around.” John shook his head. “I do wish for the same though.”  
  
“War does have a way of making things inconvenient, doesn’t it?” Sherlock sighed and rested against him again. They sat in the quiet for sometime before going back into the tank.

*******

**28th November 1944. River Maas, Holland**  
  
John gave up on chest compressions and sat back on his heels, looking down at Captain Johnson. He had all the symptoms of a heart attack and there weren’t any medics around when John had asked him what was going on.  
  
This was only the second death of the month.  
  
Now there was a small group standing around watching, “Sergeant? What happened?” One of the medics pushed through.  
  
“I think he had a heart attack.” John clenched his hand.  
  
“Bloody hell, we don’t get many natural deaths around here. I think that’s a first for me.” The medic knelt down as John pushed himself off the ground.  
  
He felt strange, not really sure how to describe his emotions. John was angry that he couldn’t save the Captain but there was most likely nothing that he could have done. It was always weird seeing someone die when they hadn’t been shot too.  
  
“John, where are you going?” He heard Sherlock coming up behind him as he crunched through the woods. He was heading in the opposite direction of his tank.  
  
“I don’t know.” He stopped short and Sherlock barreled into him, not expecting the stop. They both tumbled to the ground. “Ow, get off me you lanky git!”  
  
“You’re walking towards the bloody line! I’m not letting you get shot.”  
  
“I…”  
  
“You didn’t realize it because you’re too busy inside your head.” Sherlock pinned John down. He got a mouth full of dirt. “You can’t die, John. You especially can’t die from wandering off while woolgathering. That would just be stupid. You are not that idiotic.”  
  
John spit the dirt out, “You didn’t have to shove me down.”  
  
“That was an accident but I decided to take advantage of it to have your full attention.” Sherlock stood up, finally getting off of him.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“You did the best you could with the Captain.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Then don’t feel sorry.”  
  
“It’s just odd that someone died like that.”  
  
“It happens everyday.”  
  
“I just got used to deaths being a bit more bloody.” John got off the ground, brushing the dirt off of himself.  
  
“Yes, you did.” Sherlock nodded. “But you’re going to have to get used to natural deaths soon enough. We’re nearly in Germany. This whole sodding war is going to be over soon and you’re going to end up treating colds and stomach aches.”  
  
John smiled, “You’re really sure that I’m going to be a GP.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“What if I make the army my life?” John asked.  
  
“You won’t.” Sherlock sounded as if it was a promise. “Now, come on. We’ll see to it that you have a cuppa.”  
  
John agreed and followed Sherlock back to the tank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were only two casualties for the 5th in the month of November. The one I mentioned was of natural causes and there was only one lost to artillery fire.


	9. Not Much of a Birthday Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets some news that Sherlock isn't very excited about.

**19:00 20th December, 1944. River Maas, Holland.**  
  
 They had moved positions only slightly as they attempted to push the Germans past the Maas but it was not happening as they hoped. There were battles here and there but neither side had made any real type of headway. Sherlock was hoping that someone in The Brass or his bloody father would make some brilliant sort of move in this long, messy game of chess. It needed to be ended soon.  
  
Sherlock was mainly desperately wishing for the war to end because it was so bloody cold. His feet were always wet from the snow. His teeth chattered endlessly and his hands shook. He had no idea how he or any of the crew didn’t develop frostbite. He couldn’t remember the last time he was warm. He longed for a warm bed and a fire. He was also terribly bored because there was barely anything going on in terms of engagement. The only upside to the whole thing was that there was plenty of time to sit and chat with John. That was really the only good thing about the whole war.  
  
Even though it was so cold, Sherlock decided that he needed a break from the inside of the hull. Of course John joined him because they never went anywhere without one another unless instructed by some higher up. Bill was constantly making comments that they were attached at the hip.  
  
He was being oddly quiet since he had gone to speak with Captain Nichols earlier in the day.  John was a quiet man but he looked as if he was contemplating something. There was someone that was clearly weighing heavily on John’s mind that he did not want to talk about so the last he talked to Sherlock, probably the better.  
  
Sherlock assumed the worst, like John being transferred somewhere else. Sherlock would have no idea what to do with himself if that happened.  
  
He decided that he needed to give John a bit of a push to talk.  
  
“So, what is it? You look as if you have something horrid to tell me. You might as well get it over with.” He said after finishing his cigarette.  
  
“I’m going back to home for a month on extended leave because I’ve been out here for five years. I could stay back there but I decided not to. Apparently they think we need to have a break from war. I don’t feel that way but I can’t argue it because it’s an order.” John spoke while not looking at Sherlock.  
  
He felt nauseous for some reason. “Oh,” It was all he could think to say in reply.  
  
“I… um I’m leaving January 7th and I’ll be back on February 27th.” John explained. “The Captain said I can return to my crew when I rejoin you lads. Maybe you’ll be in Germany by then.”  
  
“January 7th… That’s not much a of birthday gift.” Sherlock pouted. He wished that he face didn’t betray him so much at times.  
  
He wasn’t sure what life without John would be like at war. Sure the other men were tolerable but he didn’t talk to them like he talked to John. Who was he supposed to hold a conversation with while John was away?  
  
Sherlock also didn’t want to adjust to a new tank commander. John was fairly laid back in his command unless he needed to be stern. Sherlock dreaded someone who would annoy him to the point of demanding a change of crew.  
  
“Oh, when is your birthday?”  
  
“The 6th.”  
  
John frowned, “I guess that is a terrible birthday gift. I’ll bring something back for you as a better gift then, yeah? What do you want?”  
  
Without much thought Sherlock said, “Honey.”  
  
“Ha, I’ll see what I can scare up.” John patted his shoulder.  
  
“That would be… nice.”  
  
“Mmm.” John replied. “I don’t want to leave. I’m sure you think I’m barmy.”  
  
“No, you enjoy this.” Sherlock shrugged.  
  
“I’m a bit of an odd duck.”  
  
“Maybe but I rather enjoy that about you.” He whispered in John’s ear.  
  
“It feels like you’re chatting me up.” John returned the whisper, brushing his lips over the shell of his ear.  
  
“Well, I need to get you whenever I can, don’t I? You’re going to be leaving me.” Sherlock tried not to scowl.  
  
“Where do you expect we shag?” John looked around them into the dark. “It’s far too cold to do anything out here.”  
  
“I’m so sick of this winter and it’s only December.”  
  
John made a noise in agreement, scooting closer to Sherlock.  
  
“The worst thing about it, is that it makes shagging even more difficult than before.” He decided to stick with the change of subject because he didn’t want to think about John leaving. He had a few weeks before he was to depart so he was going to attempt to enjoy it.  
  
“Yes, that is the worst thing… not the potential frost bite and the wet feet.” John chuckled.  
  
“We could kick everyone out of the tank for a bit.” Sherlock suggested.  
  
“Absolutely not. I am not throwing them out of the tank into the cold. Also, how do you believe we’re going to be able to have sex in there?” The Sergeant questioned.  
  
“I’m flexible.” Sherlock grinned from ear to ear.  
  
“I know, I haven’t been able to properly take advantage of it.”  
  
“No, you have not and it’s a terrible shame.”  
  
“We’ll take care of that, one day I’m sure.” John smiled.  
  
“You better not be having me on.”  
  
John chuckled.  
  
“I’m absolutely hate that you’re going to be sleeping in a warm bed very soon.” Sherlock change the topic.  
  
“I’d like to get you into a warm bed.”  
  
“I strayed away from sex because I don’t want to think about it if we are not going to be having it.” He glared at John.  
  
“Fine, what shall we talk about. How about honey?”  
  
“Bees, that’s the interesting part of the honey even though I do enjoy that part greatly.”  
  
“You continually surprise me.” John laughed. “So, tell me all about bees then.”

***

 **20:00 25th December, 1944. Near Gebroek, Holland**  
  
The 7th Armored Division arranged a Christmas concert in a barn off of the line. Sherlock was asked to play because apparently the word got out that he was rather spectacular at the violin. He blamed John for all that attention because he was no doubt telling everyone who listened about Sherlock’s talent. He did agree to play some stupid carols though because he enjoyed John’s face after he was done playing.  
  
After he finished preforming his pieces he found John, who was loitering in the back of the drunken crowd. He didn’t appear to be interested in being there any longer, which Sherlock was very thankful about.  
  
“So, did I do well?” Sherlock cocked his eyebrow.  
  
“Not your finest but…” John said with a smile and a shrug.  
  
“Bloody hate carols.” Sherlock bumped him with his case.  
  
“You play like you hate carols.”  
  
“Since when are you an expert, anyway?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“Since I got to listen to your babbling on about music and hearing your violin all the time. I could probably teach a course on music after it all. I may even be able to play an instrument now. I may even rival you with a violin, who knows.” John reached up and adjusted Sherlock’s beret.  
  
“That’s highly doubtful, John.”  
  
“So, do you need to anything else?” He glanced around the get together.  
  
“No, I thought you’d like to stay here and make agonizing small talk.” He groaned at the thought of small talk.  
  
“I was going to give you a Christmas gift.” John nodded towards the door.  
  
“Trade in a tank?”  
  
“No.” John snickered, “It’s impossible to have a trade in the tank. I was thinking about it the other day, there’s no room!”  
  
“I could figure it out.” Sherlock furrowed his brow in thought.  
  
“No!” John nearly shouted at him, drawing a few glances their way. “But there is a shed on the property, I was going to give you plate.”  
  
“Stop being boring, John.”  
  
“I’m not! We’re going to… plate.”  
  
“Boring.”  
  
“I’m not… trading with you in the tank.” He said quietly even though no one around them would probably have understood what John was talking about. They were too drunk to put anything together.  
  
Sherlock followed John out of the barn.  
  
He huffed as he crunched in the snow behind John, “You have to stay quiet.” John warned. “I don’t want the entire division, hearing you.”  
  
“You’re very talented with your tongue. I’d like them to hear.”  
  
“Why?” John asked scandalized.  
  
“To be jealous they’re not able to enjoy it.”  
  
“I didn’t realize they couldn’t.”  
  
Sherlock coughed, realizing that he just assumed they were exclusive, “You haven’t been putting any other cocks in your mouth so they wouldn’t know.”  
  
“Ah, I see.” John spoke when they got to the shed. “Is there anyone who knows how good you taste?”  
  
For some reason Sherlock felt himself blush furiously, “I didn’t realize how good I tasted… but no, no one here knows.”  
  
“Hmm, I’ll have to show you.” John took his hand and pulled him inside.

***

 **7th January, 1945. River Maas, Holland**  
  
Sherlock was not looking forward to the day following his birthday. It came far too quickly in his opinion.  
  
Before John had to leave he pulled him away from the troop, behind some trees.  
  
He clung on to John, kissing him as if he wanted to devour him whole. He had to leave to go back to England for leave.  
  
John pulled away, gripping Sherlock’s coat, “I have to go.”  
  
He felt himself frowning.  
  
“Don’t do anything stupid when I’m gone and listen to Dust, yeah?”  
  
“I’m not a child.”  
  
“You don’t act that way sometimes.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
  
“I… ah… I’ll see you in a month?”  
  
He looked down at his feet, there were things he wanted to say but decided against it. “Don’t forget my honey.”  
  
John leaned up and kissed him tenderly, “I won’t.” The way he spoke and the kiss seemed to say many things that they never really wanted to say before. It struck Sherlock funny and it drove him to pull John back into another kiss.  
  
“I really have to go. You have to be safe.”  
  
“I will.” Sherlock assured him.  
  
“If you’re not here when I get back…”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous John.” Sherlock shook his head.  
  
John moved out of Sherlock’s embrace, “I’m—”  
  
“Don’t say anything else, go on. You’re going to miss your ride and I won’t be getting any honey if that happens.” Sherlock pressed back against the tree behind him as if he was attempting to ground himself.  
  
“I hope I can find some honey,” John grinned at him. “If I don’t I’m afraid I’ll let you down.”  
  
“I doubt you will.” Sherlock nodded.  
  
“Ok, I better igri.” John cleared his throat.  
  
He shooed John off, “Go or you really will be left behind.”  
  
John took a deep breath before turning away, “I’ll miss you.” He spoke so softly that Sherlock was not sure if he was supposed to hear it.  
  
He watched John walk away. His heart felt heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note, I didn’t find how long extended leave was so I just made that up so please don’t get mad at me if any of that’s wrong. I made John’s leave a month for sake of the story.
> 
> Also, sorry about the wait for the update. I've been a bit busy. I do have a few chapters to post, I just need to reread them.


	10. Glasgow and Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes home on leave and when he returns to Holland things change with Sherlock.

**8:00 27th January, 1945. Glasgow, Scotland.**  
  
John hugged the pillow under his head and sighed.   
  
He desperately wanted to be back in Holland with his men. Being home was boring and drab. It was as if the light was sucked out of his world. It was the first time in five years that he was able to be completely alone and he hated every single moment of it. You would think that after being around other men every moment of the day, everyday for five years, John would love the space and breathing room. But it was the exact opposite.  
  
Alone, in the quiet morning, the silence was deafening.  
  
It was not that he was totally alone at home because he didn’t have his own home. He was staying at his sister’s flat in Glasgow. She was just downstairs with her two children.   
  
He had to suffer through a whole month more of it before he was back with his crew. Before he could be back in Holland with Sherlock.  
  
He buried his face in his pillow with a groan.   
  
John found himself thinking about Sherlock nearly every moment. He wondered, with everything he did, what it would have been like with Sherlock there. For instance, when he was in bed this morning. He wanted to know what it would be like with Sherlock. What would it be like to wake up wrapped up with each other? Would he be kissed awake by the other man? He would love to kiss Sherlock awake. Christ, did he miss those bloody salacious lips? They’d probably have a nice, slow shag and then John would make breakfast. They’d spend the day maybe reading and listening to the radio. Sherlock would play violin…  
  
John reached out for his journal and biro:

_I’ve gone ‘round the twist without you._   
  
_I can’t stop thinking about you. If you ever decide to read this journal you’re going to never speak to me again because ever since we met I’ve been talking to it as if it were you. It’s easy to talk to you so it’s even easier to write to you. If that makes any sense._   
  
_I’m curious what you would say if I told you I loved you and if I asked to you to spend your life after war with me. You’ve yammered on in the past about how you don’t do relationships or boyfriends. You’ve said when you return to Blighty then you’re going to stop even looking for sex because you want to work at solving crimes. But would you make some room for me? I would hope so because of how we are together._   
  
_Do you miss me as much as I miss you? I should have told you to write but I felt rather conflicted about it when I left. Maybe I should really send this to you. I won’t of course but why not think about it. One day we’ll laugh at my cowardliness. If you feel the same way about me, we can laugh at yours as well._   
  
_Christ, I miss being with not just you but with the 5th in general. I do miss being shot at because I’m completely barmy. I miss the excitement and the thrill…_

John wrote a bit more before getting out of bed and preparing for the day. It was a boring routine of washing, shaving, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed.  
  
Once he was ready he went down to the kitchen where Robert and Judith were at the table picking at their beans and eggs. Harry was smoking while doing the dishes.  
  
“Good morning Uncle John!” Judith beamed, kicking her feet under the table. She was missing her two front teeth, which was completely childlike and endearing.  
  
“Morning, love.” John smiled back at her. He looked back to the counter and saw an empty bottle of whisky. Harry looked like hell.  
  
John had never met anyone more miserable in his entire life. Harry was like him but she got herself into trouble when she was trying to convince herself that she didn’t love woman. There had been a girl, Clara, that John knew she was smitten with but she ended up going with Richard. She got pregnant and they did the right thing and married. Or, well, what society says is the right thing because it certainly wasn’t the right thing for her.  
  
All she did now is watch the little things run around as she drank when she was not doing secretary work. Robert was in the RAF so he wasn’t home to help her. Even when he was home it wasn’t ideal. He was an angry man so it was almost better that he was gone. John wished that she’d smarten up and leave him.  
  
John hated seeing how unhappy Harry was with her life. She was apart of the reason John refused to marry a girl just because he felt like he had to in order to get on all right in life. He could see that no one would be happy. John was sure that he’d be better off alone.  
  
Though he certainly hoped he wouldn’t be lonely no that he had Sherlock in his life.  
  
Harry cleared her throat, “Hey Johnny, what do you have on for today?”  
  
“I’m trying to find honey.” John felt his lips twitch into a grin.  
  
“Ah, why honey?”  
  
“Request from one of my men. It’s going to be his birthday gift.” He explained.  
  
“Is he special?” She had a bit of spite in her voice.  
  
John shrugged.  
  
“I doubt it is, probably some lark. Careful, Johnny.”  
  
“Well, I’m off.” He didn’t want to have a row with Harry because he didn’t want to be put in a sour mood. “Do you need anything?”  
  
“No.”  
  
John left, to get himself breakfast and then to the shops in search of the best honey. Not that he knew what was good honey compared to bad honey but he was going to some effort into finding it out because Sherlock deserved it.

***

 **14:00 7th February, 1945 Schilberg, Holland**  
  
Sherlock chewed on his lip. He has survived one month without John around but the month had been terribly lonely.  He was disgusted with how he felt without John around him. He had this strange empty feeling in the days following John’s leave. A month in the empty feeling developed into a dull ache every single time he thought about the other man. Sadly, he thought of him constantly.  
  
Bill was the commander of the tank until he returned, moving Greg up to second in command and Dim became the driver. A rooky came to take Dim’s place. Sherlock paid very little mind to the new person and deleted his name each time he heard it because he just wanted John back and the old crew back in place.  
  
“You ok, Ox?” Bill nudged him after he came over to Sherlock who was standing near the tank smoking.  
  
“Fine, yes.”  
  
“You’re looking off into the distance at nothing.” Bill pointed out.  
  
“I was thinking.” Sherlock stepped on his fag, stomping a bit too hard. “I’m sure that’s a hard concept for you to understand.”  
  
“Miss John?”  
  
“Why would I miss John?” He snapped.  
  
“Oh, maybe because you’re in love with him.” He lit a cigarette with a grin. “You should get a mirror next to you lay your eyes on him.”  
  
Sherlock scowled because he didn’t like how obvious he was about John.  
  
“It’s lovely, actually.”  
  
“You are annoying me.” He had had enough of Bill talking about this.  
  
“I bet he misses you. Why don’t you write him?” Bill suggested.  
  
“No, I’m going to see him in twenty days.”  
  
Bill made a noise.  
  
“You’re very involved in our lives for absolutely no reason.” Sherlock stomped his cigarette out.  
  
“I’m trying to do what’s best for you both. You’re meant to be together. Fate has brought you both to this crew at this point. You’re going to spend the rest of your lives together wheather you like it or not.”  
  
Sherlock snickered, “You are—”  
  
“An idiot, I know.” Dust interrupted him. “But I’m right.”  
  
“You’re not.” Sherlock turned away, not really sure where he was going.

***

 **11:00 25th February, 1945. Holland**  
  
Sherlock was lying out on the roof of the home they had taken far off the line. They were pulled back in order to train to cross the Rhine. He was taking advantage of some free time to have some time to himself to think.  
  
At some point something heavy settled on to his chest, startling him. He opened eyes to see a jar of honey.  
  
Sherlock sat up, holding the honey in his hand before looking around to see no one with him on the roof.  
  
“Have you become daft while I was gone?”  
  
Sherlock nearly toppled off the roof to look behind him to see John leaning out the window, “John.”  
  
“Forgot how to talk too?” He chuckled as Sherlock clambered through the window.  
  
When his feet was firmly on the ground he surged forward and kissed John, wrapping both arms around him.  
  
“Hello to you too.” John whispered as he was backed against the wall by the window.  
  
“You’re back early.”  
  
John nodded, “I came back for training.”  
  
Sherlock pressed him back and kissed him harder.  
  
“Do you know anywhere private we could sneak off to tonight?”  
  
“Tonight?” He frowned.  
  
“Yes, tonight, you have to wait. I need to go talk to Captain Nichols right now and we’re doing maneuvers soon after. Tonight we’ll catch up, I want to know everything that happened when I was home.”  
  
“You didn’t have a good time at home.” Sherlock deduced.  
  
“No,” John spoke softly, “But I’m here now.”  
  
“Good.” Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s once more before letting John’s go.

***

John bit into the fleshy meat of his palm as Sherlock buried himself deep inside of him. They hadn’t done it this way before. It was either hand jobs or blow jobs and he only penetrated Sherlock twice. He’d been wanting Sherlock inside of him for a long time now but he never had the chance.  
  
They were in a barn on the land the 5th had taken over for the time being. Sherlock assured him he was only used to hold concerts and such but everyone was fast asleep that night.  
  
Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. It didn’t take much more to send John over the edge. Sherlock followed a few thrusts later.  
  
“Mmm, pull out but don’t get off of me.” John rubbed Sherlock’s back.  
  
The other man listened. He then pulled his the blanket he had brought with him around them tighter.  
  
“I… ah… I want to go on a date with you.” John lightly drew patterns on his back.  
  
“A date?” Sherlock’s voice rumbled deep in his chest.  
  
“Yes, you normally hate repetition.” His other hand settled into Sherlock’s hair.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I missed you, daily. I was going mad with missing you.”  
  
Sherlock pushed himself up to look at John in the eyes. The sudden movement made John worry that Sherlock was going to run away, “Daily?”  
  
“Yes.”   
  
“I thought I was being an idiot or that something was wrong with me. I didn’t think it was right.” To John’s surprise the other man looked relieved.  
  
“Its normal if you have feelings for another person.” He smiled up at Sherlock.  
  
“Normal is so boring, John.” He swooped down and kissed John.  
  
“Yes, but you’re extraordinary so it’s far from normal.”  
  
“As are you, John Watson.”  
  
“I’m so glad you’re ok with this.”  
  
“You thought otherwise?”  
  
“You try to be distant and you said you wouldn’t fall for me.”  
  
“Well, I was being an idiot then because I didn’t have enough data. I should know to never make that type of assumption. But you’re an outlier. Completely unexpected.” Sherlock nuzzled John’s jaw. “Tell me about this date, what will we do?”  
  
“I don’t know but I want to do something nice with you and I want to take you somewhere, where we don’t have to worry about being caught. I want to take my time with you and not rush because we always rush.”  
  
“You thought about it a lot when you were on leave?”  
  
“I thought about you all the bloody time. It was frankly ridiculous.” John snorted.  
  
He felt Sherlock’s lips turn up into a smile.  
  
“I’m not going to get a date with you someday soon.”  
  
“We’re at war, when on earth can one go on a date?”  
  
“I don’t know, but we will.” John sighed, “We should go back.”  
  
“Mmm, five more minutes like this.”  
  
John didn’t feel like arguing.


	11. 24 Hours Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have a little get away.

**09:00 7th April, 1945. Nearing Hamburg, Germany.**  
  
John stood outside of Captain Nichols’ tent, who was talking to a messenger. He had been asked to talk to his commander as soon as possible. He was worried that they were going to be transferring him and that was the absolute last thing that he wanted to hear.  
  
Since returning at the end of February he was deliriously happy to be with Sherlock and to be back with his crew. Mostly it was being able to be with Sherlock. When they finally came to the mutual conclusion that they very much fancied one another John felt this weight he had on his shoulders lifted. He was sure he was smiling all the time and trying his hardest not to snog Sherlock silly. Bill of course was constantly pointing it out.  
  
His troop was doing fairly well since his return as well. Following a few weeks of training they had crossed the Rhine and they were now fighting their way towards Hamburg and making decent progress.  
  
Sadly he had lost a full tank crew a week ago in battle. He had a hard time not feeling as if it was his own fault. The rest of the men were doing their best to convince him otherwise.  
  
“Sergeant Watson, come in.” Captain Nichols called out.  
  
John followed his order and joined the man in the tent, “Yes, sir?”  
  
“I’m pulling your troop off the line for the day. You’re in need of some time off.”  
  
John blinked a few times because he wasn’t sure what to say.  
  
“Go into town, see a film, or whatever it is you fancy. You’ve been on edge for the last week. I think it is for the better of your whole troop to take the day off and report back here tomorrow morning at 09:00.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Captain.”  
  
“It is, Sergeant.” He put his hands behind his back and stood straight. “Take it as an order.”  
  
John cleared his throat, “A whole day?”  
  
“Twenty-four hours.”  
  
For a moment he didn’t want to leave the line but then he had what felt like a brilliant idea, “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Very well then, Sergeant.” Captain Nichols smiled. “Have a splendid time. We all need a break from time to time.”  
  
John nodded before being dismissed.  
  
He made his way to his crew, building an idea to get a date with Sherlock.  
  
“You’re shining as bright as the sun, Doc.” Dim observed as John arrived at the tank.  
  
The four other men were enjoying tea and cigarettes for breakfast.  
  
“We’ve been given the day off. We’re getting off the line for now.” He explained.  
  
“Fantastic!” Lestrade exclaimed.  
  
Sherlock smirked at him, apparently knowing what John’s motives were. The man could read his mind, he was sure.  
  
“Let’s get going, lads.”

***

Later, John acquired a motorbike from a local and some food for the night before leaving town with Sherlock.  
  
He tore Sherlock away from what appeared to be a rather tense conversation with an older German man in the village. He explained on the ride through the woods that it was over the best symphony ever written. The way they had been talking it seemed far more important than that but John didn’t doubt Sherlock would get all up in arms over music.  
  
“So, where exactly are we going, John? I figured you had a plan for us but I thought it may have involved staying in the Inn in the village.” Sherlock said in his ear.  
  
John chuckled, “You’ll see.”  
  
Sherlock huffed in annoyance but afterwards stayed quiet until they rolled up to the house on the lake.  
  
They had cleared it on their way through a few days back. It belonged to one of the higher ups in the SS but you wouldn’t know it with how surprisingly quaint it was.  
  
“Ah, I very much like this idea, shagging in this horrid man’s bed. He would despise it, I’m sure.”  
  
John just grinned in agreement. There were two feet posted at the house to guard it but Sherlock charmed them into letting the two men cause havoc there for the night.  
  
He set the basket of grub on the countertop, “That was disturbing.” John said as the investigated the kitchen. It was bare of any food but there were a few nice bottles of wine and scotch.  
  
Most of the valuables were raided when they had come through. Dim took most of the silverware he could fit in his pockets. John and Sherlock didn’t take a thing.  
  
“What?”  
  
“How bloody charming you were.” He gestured behind him towards the front of the house.  
  
“Yes, well…” Sherlock trailed off but then caught his thought, “You find me charming.”  
  
“I don’t find you charming as much as I find you interesting and bloody gorgeous.” He said.  
  
“Yes, but I do remember charming you, at least in the beginning.”  
  
“That was almost a year ago now.” He realized out loud.  
  
Sherlock hummed, “You must be something else to hold my attention so well.”  
  
John snickered as he moved out of the room and into the sitting room. It was mostly free of Nazi memorabilia, as the men had taken any of that as souvenirs. There were some pictures of the man with Hitler and Rommel as well as a few banners but not as much as there had been a few days before.  
  
Even then it wasn’t as obvious as John would have assumed. He always thought these people’s homes were going to be dark and evil but it was like every other home with a few exceptions.  
  
“It’s boring down here, I think we should go up stairs.” Sherlock suggested.  
  
“One thing on your mind?” John went after him up the stairs.  
  
“Not what you think.” The other man glanced back.  
  
“What then?”  
  
“A nice bath.”  
  
He chuckled, “That sounds lovely.”  
  
“That’s the one thing I’ve missed from home.”  
  
“Nothing else?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged as they reached the second floor. He found the bedroom and ensuite bathroom quickly.  
  
There was a large white claw-foot bath with gold fixtures to the side of the room, “This is exactly what I wanted.” Sherlock sighed as he turned the knobs as water began to flow.  
  
“I’m very happy that I could give it to you.” He started to get his kit off while Sherlock did the same.  
  
Soon they were settling into the warm water of the bathtub. John sat with his back against Sherlock’s chest, between his long legs, which had to be bent slightly to fully fit in the bath.  
  
His strong hands trailed slowing down John’s abdomen, “Don’t be a tease.”  
  
“I’ll be a tease as much as I want today, John. This is the first time we don’t have to rush. I want to draw things out and make you shake and sweat. I want to explore every inch of you.” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear as his fingers grazed over John’s cock.  
  
“Mmm, Sherlock.” He breathed.  
  
“I promise to do it multiple times as well. I want to wear you out.”  
  
“So I can go back to the line blinded by lust.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll be able to get back to the right mind when you get in the tank.” Sherlock nibbled at his ear. “You do have that excellent ability.”  
  
“Bloody hell.” He let out a shaky breath. “Why’d we get in the bathtub?”  
  
“Because we haven’t had a nice wash in a while.” Sherlock stroked his cocked slowly then pulled his hand away.  
  
“Bastard.” He tickled the other man’s knee as he felt Sherlock rub a bar of soap over his back.  
  
“We’re taking our time, darling.”  
  
“Did you call me darling?” He hummed as Sherlock washed him.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
John laughed as Sherlock washed his back.  
  
He reveled in Sherlock’s touches and brushes of lips against his skin. He was completely content with just staying in the bathtub all day but that was probably not a very good idea.  
  
“I want you in bed.” John leaned into Sherlock.  
  
“You need to wash my back first.” He reminded him.  
  
After some careful rearranging John return the favor of washing Sherlock lovely, pale back.  
  
“Come fuck me, John.” Sherlock’s voice rumbled as he finished up.  
  
“You’re a very naughty man.” He smacked the taller man’s behind as he stood up.  
  
He smirked as he wiped himself down with a big, fluffy towel.  
  
John removed the drain from the bath before joining Sherlock in the cooler air.  
  
“Come here, let me warm you.” Sherlock tied his towel around his waist before wrapping another around John’s shoulder’s and rubbing.  
  
“Look at you, you are so considerate.”  
  
“I’m not, I just want to have sex.” He pushed him towards the door.  
  
“Ah, right.” John grinned as he went into the bedroom. He glanced behind him to see Sherlock rummaging around him his pouch.  
  
“Vaseline, always prepared.” Sherlock gave a feline-like smile before joining John in the bedroom.  
  
“Of course you are.” He laughed as Sherlock enveloped him in a hug and walked him back until his legs met the bed.  
  
Sherlock tossed the Vaseline on the bed then pushed John down and straddled his hips, “This first. Then you can fuck me.”  
  
John blushed, “What’s this?”  
  
“This.” He brushed his lips over his neck softly.  
  
“Just that? Weren’t we just doing that?”  
  
Sherlock stayed silent and kissed and brushing his lips down his neck and chest. He nipped at his chest before licking his way down to his navel where he nuzzled for a moment.  
  
“What are you doing?” John chuckled.  
  
“Smelling you. I know what you smell like when you’re dirty, I like they way you smell clean as well.”  
  
“As well? You like me reeking?”  
  
“Yes,” Sherlock said simply as he pushed away John’s towel.  
  
He moaned as Sherlock took him in his hand and slowly stroked him. The other man kissed down his thigh, over his kneecap and to his calf. Sherlock stopped stroking him and moved over to his left leg and repeated the process.  
  
Sherlock made John roll over onto his stomach to pay just as much attention to his back as his front before making a satisfied noise and sitting back.  
  
John felt as if his bones were jelly, “That was lovely.” He mumbled.  
  
“I needed to file away your freckles, scars, and smells.”  
  
“Oh, that’s…” He smiled to himself before turning over to look at Sherlock. “That’s rather sweet, isn’t it?”  
  
“No, it was in case I needed to identify your body if we couldn’t recognize your face.”  
  
“What of the smells?” John pressed because he knew Sherlock was partially lying.  
  
Sherlock looked to the side, avoiding eye contact, “You can fuck me now?”  
  
Understanding he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Sherlock on that route he nodded and Sherlock threw himself down, tossing his towel aside.  
  
“You are the most demanding human I’ve come to know in my life.”  
  
He rolled his eyes while John went to grab the Vaseline tub, “I know what I want.”  
  
“And you want me.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What if I wanted you to have me?”  
  
“We can do that later,” Sherlock rolled on to his side.  
  
“Later?”  
  
“Of course, we’ll do this a few times before we have to leave tomorrow, I’m assuming.”  
  
“You’re really assuming we have the stamina.”  
  
“We’re both healthy, young men, of course.” Sherlock wiggled his bum, “Now on with it.”  
  
“You’re very romantic.” John rolled his eyes and he twisted the top off the Vaseline.  
  
“Are we getting into all that?”  
  
John just chuckled then placed a kiss on Sherlock’s shoulder, “I’ll just get on with it.”  
  
“If you want me to be romantic, I’ll give it a go.”  
  
“Give it a go,”  He shook his head. “No, it’s all right it’d be a bit strange because it wouldn’t be you.”  
  
John slowly pressed his finger into Sherlock who let out a low groan.  
  
After some slow and careful preparation John had enough waiting and turned Sherlock on to his back.  
  
“That took long enough.”  
  
“Why are you complaining?” John looked down at Sherlock. His hair was sticking up everywhere.  
  
“Because I want you.”  
  
He snickered then kissed him, “No more complaining.”  
  
“Then just — oh.” Sherlock arched his back as John buried himself inside of him.  
  
John laughed again at Sherlock’s sudden silence.  
  
He wrapped Sherlock’s legs around his hips, to get a bit of a better position. John took his time and thrust slow and deep. It was nice not to worry about someone coming along to having to be somewhere in a certain amount of time.  
  
“Please John,” Sherlock whined.  
  
“All right, all right.” He nibbled on the other man’s bottom lip before wrapping his hand around him. “That good?”  
  
“Harder, tighter.”  
  
John listened, letting one hand on the headboard for some leverage to give Sherlock exactly what he wanted.  
  
A minute later they both climaxed and John collapsed on top of Sherlock, “Yes, we’ll be doing that again before we go.” John nuzzled his neck.  
  
“Mmm, at least two more times.”

***

Following a nice kip John woke up with Sherlock wrapped around him like an octopus, “I thought you disliked cuddling and only do it when I wanted to.”  
  
Sherlock made a noise of disagreement, “You wanted this so I am giving it to you.”  
  
“We should see to some nourishment.” John looked at his watch.  
  
“In a bit.” The other man hugged him tighter.  
  
John thought for a moment, “You know, I thought of what this would be like when I was on leave.”  
  
“Is it all you’ve dreamt it to be?”  
  
“Better.” John rubbed Sherlock’s arm. “I don’t want us to end.” He spoke in a whisper.  
  
Behind him Sherlock shifted, moving John about because his arms and legs were wrapped around him, “When the war ends, come to London.”  
  
“Really?” John squirmed so he could face him.  
  
“Yes, I wouldn’t just say a thing like that. I enjoy spending time with you and for some strange reason, I don’t want it to stop.”  
  
“What would we do in London, hmm?”  
  
Sherlock grinned, “We’d share a flat—”  
  
“People might talk.”  
  
“People do little else. Who cares, anyway?”  
  
John shrugged.  
  
“Like I was saying, we’d share a flat somewhere appealing. You will begin schooling to become a doctor, finally. I would figure something out. I’ve been thinking about getting into solving crimes for sometime, so I could do that.”  
  
“So, that’s it then? We’d live happily ever after?”  
  
“I’m sure we’d have our rows but I don’t think anything too serious would ever come up.”  
  
“You can’t predict the future.”  
  
“I believe we would only split up if I cheated on you or if you decided that you wanted a wife and children like every other man.”  
  
John snorted, “That is not going to happen.”  
  
“I don’t believe so but it is a slight possibility.”  
  
“I’m telling you that I would not. Would you cheat on me?”  
  
“I only would if I grew bored of you but I also believe that would not happen.”  
  
John’s heart sunk, “You wouldn’t?”  
  
“Most people bore me within at least a day, if not less, of their acquaintance. It’s been a year that I’ve known you and I only want to know you more. I’ve yet to figure everything out about you either.”  
  
“But if we live together back in Blighty you will.” John frowned.  
  
“We are constantly with each other here, I’ve seen you in nearly every battle situation and I’ve yet to find you boring. Bloody hell, if I could get through November with only you to hold my attention then I can absolutely live the rest of my life out with you in London.”  
  
“Honestly?”  
  
“Positively.”  
  
John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, “I’m still not sure if I’m done with the army.”  
  
The other man pouted, “Why?”  
  
“Because I’m rather good at this all.”  
  
“Cuddling?”  
  
“Stop being cheeky. This is a serious conversation.” John poked at his side.  
  
“I know you enjoy the whole thrill of it all but you would be such a fantastic doctor.”  
  
“But will I enjoy it as much as I enjoy this? Where would I get my rushes?”  
  
“I could provide that for you?”  
  
“You could?” He grinned.  
  
“Yes, I know the underbelly of London. We could go into it.”  
  
“And get us killed?”  
  
“We could get you a side arm.”  
  
“Why me?”  
  
“You’re a much better shot than I am.” Sherlock admitted.  
  
“I’m glad you know I’m better at something.”  
  
“You’re better at a few other things as well but I’ll let you work out what.”  
  
John furrowed his brow in though, “Hmm, let’s see… working with people?”  
  
The other man shrugged.  
  
“Comforting people.”  
  
“Why don’t we just say people in general?” Sherlock said briskly.  
  
“Does that bother you?” He twirled a dark, silky curl around his finger.  
  
“No.”  
  
“You’re lying.” John insisted but decided that that was enough on that subject.  
  
“When we go home, are you going to solve crime?”  
  
“Does this mean you’re going to come home with me for good and leave the army?”  
  
“Sherlock, I don’t know… are you going to solve crimes?”  
  
“Probably, I still refuse to return to uni.”  
  
“You refuse to return to uni but you want me to?”  
  
“We’re different. You are supposed to be a doctor, which you need medical schooling for.” Sherlock finally let go of him. He rolled out of bed, probably in search of cigarettes.  
  
“Detectives don’t need education?” He pondered, sitting up.  
  
“I give myself the education, better than any university could provide me. You need to get a degree, I don’t.” Sherlock called out from the bathroom, a second later he emerged with his cigarette case and John’s lighter.  
  
“I see, because you’re brilliant.”  
  
“More or less but also because you would not be a trusted doctor if you didn’t go through all those proper channels.” Sherlock joined him in the bed again. “Do you not want to go to uni? Are you afraid you’ll be too old because that is ridiculous? I’m sure they’ll be plenty of men going to school when this sodding thing ends.”  
  
John shrugged because that was part of the reason.  
  
Sherlock lit a cigarette then handed it to John before lighting another for himself, “You will move in with me either way. If you stay in this bloody army, you’ll have a nice place to spend your leave. If you don’t then we can just be together.”  
  
He took a long drag, “You really want me where ever it is you decide to move?”  
  
“I would never ask if I didn’t.” He gave John an impatient look.  
  
“I didn’t even know we were going steady.” John grinned at him.  
  
“John!” He whined.  
  
“Yes, of course I’ll move in with you.”  
  
“I knew you would.” Sherlock tapped the ash out into the tea cup on the night table.  
  
“You had your doubts.” John kissed him quickly.  
  
“Very few.” Sherlock scoffed. “Shall we see to dinner? I know you bought somethings in town and I can’t wait to have a real, home cooked meal.”  
  
“I thought we’d shag again in celebration.”  
  
“I need to eat first. I’m very hungry for some reason.”  
  
John nodded before getting out of bed, “I’ll see to some munga. You sit here and look ridiculously sexy.”  
  
Sherlock smirked.  
  
He headed downstairs to find the food they had carted with them, smiling all the way to himself.

***

 **8th April, 1945.**  
  
They had spent the rest of the day eating, shagging, relaxing, and chatting. John didn’t want to leave the small little world that had developed in only a few hours. He decided that he was going to move in with Sherlock when they return to Blighty no matter what. Sherlock was right, he needed a place to go home that wasn’t Harry’s.  
  
When morning came he got Sherlock out of bed so they could wash before having breakfast. Once they were done they headed out, back to town.  
  
“Well, well, there they are.” Dim said around a cigarette. Bill, Lestrade, and he were all sitting on their tank as John and Sherlock walked over to them.  
  
“Don’t you look bright eyed and bushy tailed.”  
  
“They’ve got this certain glow about them. Did you have a little honeymoon?” Dust asked.  
  
“We’re running late, let’s roll boys.”  
  
“You’re running late.”  
  
“Oi!” John shot them all a look and he heard Sherlock chuckling next to him. “You’re day off is over, no more fucking about.” He tossed Sherlock a stern look as if to say  they had to get back to business.  
  
“Yes, sir.” Dim mumbled as they all started to get moving.  
  
“Of course, Sergeant.” Sherlock beamed before climbing atop the tank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I wasn't happy with this for some time so I rewrote it. The good news it I have 4 chapters done. I'm going to space them out though because it might take me a bit to write the last two.


	12. Out of Luck

**07:00 30th April, 1945. Hamburg Suburbs, Germany**  
  
“This is going to be over soon.” Sherlock said to John as they stood outside the tank, waiting for orders on their move through the next suburb. “Once we take the city, there won’t be much left to do.”  
  
“They’re putting up one hell of a fight though.” John kicked the dirt off his boots. “Making it a bit hard on us.”  
  
“Yes, but we’ll be home soon enough. In London.” The Private grinned like a child.  
  
“I cannot wait,” He said as Captain Nichols came over to them. “Sir,” John greeted him.  
  
“At ease, Sergeant. Private, I need a word with your tank commander.”  
  
Sherlock just gave a curt nod before walking off towards the rest of the crew.  
  
“Watson, I wanted to let you know that I put in for your battlefield commission. I made sure to see to it that you are a commissioned officer before this war is over. You’re an excellent leader and bloody brilliant in the field. We need more soldiers like you. I hope that you see to making the army your career.”  
  
John glanced over to where Sherlock was standing with the other men. He didn’t want John to spend the rest of his life in the army but he had to think of his own future. Sure, there would be a future with Sherlock but he needed to do something than sit around and shag the man. Though, that would be a lovely job…  
  
 “Thank you, sir.”  
  
“Very well then. Until you’re commissioned your new rank is Staff Sergeant. We thought of moving you but with the mess we’re in right now, we need you leading these men here.”  
  
John nodded.  
  
“Get your troop together, Watson, we’re going to be rolling out in ten.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Captain Nichols went off and his crew came over looking curious, “What was that all about?” Dust questioned.  
  
“I’m going to be a commissioned officer.” John said, looking at Sherlock.  
  
“Ah, so the army is going to be your life.” The other man was completely unreadable. John couldn’t tell if he was angry with him, making him somewhat nervous.  
  
“Looks that way.” He shrugged. “Let’s get it together, lads, it’s time we move on out.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Lestrade said, already making his way to the tank.  
  
Sherlock lingered until only he and John were standing alone, “I’m not angry. I just wish you would have been a doctor. I know you’re wondering that.”  
  
“Good, I’m glad you’re ok with it.”  
  
Sherlock gave a crooked smile, “If this is really what you want to do with the rest of your life, then do so. You’re not completely rubbish at it.”  
  
“Why, thank you. I’ll give you just as much support in your future endeavors.” John grinned.  
  
“I’m sure you will. Now, come along, sir, we need to make sure they don’t pull that commission before you even really get it.”  
  
“Bugger off and get your arse moving.”  
  
Sherlock grinned before going off.

***

Sometime later, they were sitting between some buildings, waiting for the next move from command. The plan was to make their way through the Hamburg suburbs and finally take the city, hopefully helping with the complete fall of Germany.  
  
“Bloody hell.” John looked out his vision block, seeing nothing but brick ruins. “I miss the open fields.”  
  
Bill snickered, “Don’t we all.”  
  
“We can be ambushed here.” John tapped his fingers on the tank’s metal interior.  
  
“You’re always on about that.” Lestrade said, jokingly.  
  
John snorted a laugh, “I’ll be glad to never say it again.”  
  
“This is your future, John, you’ll always be saying that.” Sherlock spoke behind him.  
  
He rolled his eyes, “I doubt we’ll always be at war.”  
  
“What do think you will be doing then if not fighting? You’ll be bored just faffing about the base. You hate when we’re sitting around and doing nothing.” Sherlock warned.  
  
“I’m sure there’s plenty to do during peace time.”  
  
“Are you sure? You’ve never been in war during peace time.”  
  
“I know,” John turned his head to look at Sherlock. “But there must be things to see to.”  
  
“So you’re going into this without knowing what you’re really getting yourself into? Do you not know what it’s like to be a soldier for your career?”  
  
He had a feeling that Sherlock was holding something back when it came to his future career, “Why didn’t you bring this up before?”  
  
“I assumed that you thought of everything because you are fairly smart.”  
  
“Oi, you two, no lovers rows in the tank, that’s against the rules. You’ve got to wait on that, lads. We’re in the middle of a little battle here, far more important than your domestic.”  
  
John agreed with Bill and got back to business. There would be plenty of time to argue over it later, “Anything on the radio?”  
  
“Nope.” Sherlock popped the ‘p’.  
  
After a few more moments of silence John stood up, “I’m going up on the turret, see if I can get a view of bloody anything. I can’t sit here anymore.”  
  
Sherlock made a noise of disagreement but John didn’t listen to him, as usual. It was his tank to command, he was going to do what he thought was right.  
  
John couldn’t count the times he climbed on top of the turret during the last year of his life but each time he never had a problem (with the exception of that close call when he needed to stretch out). This time was very different.  
  
As soon as he was out past his shoulders he heard the distinct sound of a bullet cutting through the air. Not a second later there was an excruciating burning pain in his left shoulder and he let out an odd sound that wasn’t really a scream or a groan.  
  
“Bloody fucking hell, John, you ok?” Bill yelled up.  
  
John felt himself fall back into the tank then heard Sherlock gasp, “John!”  
  
“Fuck.” Bill spoke in a grim tone.  
  
“John ok?” Dim called.  
  
“No, shot in the shoulder. We got to get a medic right now.”  
  
“You can’t roll out of here until you know what’s going on and they can’t get here.” He gritted his teeth through the pain as Sherlock maneuvered closer to him. “No, you need to be on the radio.”  
  
“Like hell I do.” Sherlock knelt in front of him. “Sod the bloody radio.”  
  
“Dim, get up here on the radio, now.” Bill shouted to the man.  
  
“You need to breathe John, you’re hyperventilating.”  
  
“I got shot, Sherlock!” He snapped and looked down at his wound. Blood was staining his pixie suit.  
  
“I can see that.” The other man frowned deeply. He looked as if he had no idea what to do for the first time in his life. “There weren’t any reports about snipers, should have known that… There’s always snipers, I know there’s always snipers.”  
  
“It’s not your fault. You know that my luck was running out. Plus, I should have remembered the ruddy snipers. I guess I got a bit to cocky after all this time of not getting hurt.”  
  
There was a sound of a panzer not too far off and then rapid gunfire.  
  
“No such thing as luck.”  
  
“Right, I’m just stupid then.” John swallowed hard.  
  
“No… well… Yes. Brave and stupid can go hand and hand I suppose. There’s a very fine line that you walk on. You’re constantly straddling that line now that I think of it.”  
  
John laughed and closed his eyes. The tank was starting to spin and he was sure if he kept his eyes open any longer then the tank would just spin out of control.  
  
“Hey, don’t do that, look at me.”  
  
He felt Sherlock’s hand on his jaw.  
  
“Please, stay awake.”  
  
“You’re rather calm.” John moved a bit then regretted it as the pain just got worse. It was nearly blinding, making him feel nauseous. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hope for it to pass. But it wouldn’t pass because there was a hole in his shoulder and he did just learned that moving was NOT GOOD.  
  
Sherlock gnawed on his lip, his calmness was slowly washing away, “You’re loosing too much blood. We need to get you to a medic or one needs to get here.”  
  
He knew his options so he made a choice, “There’s a sewing kit in my pouch.” John mumbled as the gunfire grew closer.  
  
“You want me to sew you up?”  
  
“Do we have other options? It’s either let me bleed out or sew me up until we can get out of here.”  
  
Sherlock swallowed hard before reaching for John’s pouch.  
  
“Morphine in there too, you’ll need to stick me.”  
  
The other man’s hand shook as he dug in the pouch.  
  
“You need to relax before you sew me up.” He forced out a laugh in some type of attempt to get them both to relax. “You were calm a minute ago.”  
  
“That was before you wanted me to sew you up.” Sherlock took the small pair of scissors from the kit and cut the sleeve off to the shoulder of John’s coveralls and undershirt. He did his best not to hurt John but it was inevitable.  
  
Once the fabric was out of the way Sherlock took the morphine and jabbed John in the arm.   
  
He did he best to wipe away the blood with whiskey from Dim and a shirt.   
  
Then Sherlock reached in the pouch to get the sewing needle.  
  
“You’re not allowed to die.” Sherlock said quietly as he threaded the needle. He looked very determined. “We’ve a lot to do in London.”  
  
“I know, you need to show me that nasty underbelly.” John’s eye lids felt heavy and the world around him felt like it was melting away. “Lounge about and read all day in bed. Listen to you play violin for hours…”  
  
“Keep your eyes fixed on me, John.” Sherlock’s voice sounded shaky.  
  
“I’m knackered.” He felt like the words came out too slowly as he opened his eyes again.  
  
“Loss of blood and the morphine.” Sherlock took a deep breath. The man had this light haze around him.  
  
“If I lose an arm, I won’t be able to stay in the army or be a doctor.”  
  
“You won’t. You will not lose your arm.” The other man promised and moved closer to John. “You won’t lose an arm and you won’t die.”  
  
“Those are some lofty promises.” John’s eyes slid shut again as the needle pierced his skin.  
  
“Please, John, open your eyes.” He felt Sherlock’s lips against his temple. “You need to open your eyes and you need to stay awake.”  
  
“Just a kip.” His whole body felt like it was tingling.  
  
“Don’t go to sleep, please stay awake.”  
  
John knew Sherlock was pleading but he couldn’t stay conscious anymore.

***

The next time he came to there he was in the back of a truck, bumping along dirt roads. Everything was in double and fuzzy. Someone was telling him they were going to hospital. Soon enough it all went black again.  
  
After that he woke up sweating and breathing hard. He felt like his whole body was on fire. What looked like an angel came over him and he felt something cool against his face.  
  
“Go back to sleep, love.”  
  
John listened.  
  
That went on for sometime. Then again, he wasn’t exactly sure how long… It could have only been hours or it could have been days or weeks.  
  
But he came to eventually, his shoulder and leg aching. The leg made no sense to him because he hadn’t been shot in the leg. Or maybe he had. He couldn’t really remember everything too clearly.  
  
He opened his eyes and squinted around to see he was surrounded by beds of other wounded men. He was probably somewhere near the lines still but he couldn’t be sure.  
  
John also had no idea what the date was. Luckily a nurse saw John was alert and came, practically skipping, towards him.  
  
“Oh! Sergeant Watson, you’re up. How you doing today, love?” She looked vaguely like the angel that John had a dream of. Tall, dark, dark hair, and pale skin.  
  
He coughed, realizing how dry his throat was.  
  
“Here’s some water, take it slow.” She grinned, holding the glass of water for him.  
  
He gulped down some water, “What day is it?”  
  
“May 8th.” She said with a wide smile. “Allies officially won the war today. Nice day to wake up, yeah?”  
  
John nodded, “We won?”  
  
“Yes, there’s celebrations all over today. Sadly you won’t be able to go take part but this is your little celebration.”  
  
“Where am I?”  
  
“Hospital in Germany. Once you’re stable enough, you’ll be back to England. I’m sure you want to get back to your girl or family soon.”  
  
“Good, good.” He took a deep breath. “Why was I out so long?”  
  
“You were shot in the shoulder and lost far too much blood. I guess one of the lads in your crew sewed you up the best he could but it caused an infection. You’ve been running a fever higher than I’ve ever seen. We were all very worried about you but you pulled out just fine. Once your shoulder is all healed up there shouldn’t be any more problems for you.”  
  
“I see, ah, why does my leg hurt?”  
  
“Hmm, probably something to do with the fact you’ve been laid up in bed for so long. We can get you walking once you feel up to it.”  
  
John took another sip of water.  
  
“Is there anyone you want to write to, to let them know that you’re all right?”  
  
He needed to write Sherlock, “Can I get in touch with my crew.”  
  
She shrugged, “Let me see what I can do.”  
  
“Thank you…”  
  
“Irene… er Nurse Adler, actually. They’re quite formal about that.” She chuckled before leaving John’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You got to be kidding me, there’s going to be movie about an American Tank crew coming out with Brad Pitt (called Fury). I wish I had that before I wrote this.


	13. Over A Few Months

**15:00 30th April, 1945. Hamburg Suburbs, Germany**  
  
“Don’t go to sleep, please stay awake.” Sherlock could hear his voice shaking as he sewed up John’s entrance wound. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do the exit wound but he’d tackled that if he really had to. He as actually praying to whatever John believed in that they’d get a medic before it came to that.  
  
He took a deep breath as he slid the needle through John’s skin, “If you die…” He whispered.  
  
“It’s going to be ok, Ox.” Dimmock said next to him. “We’ll get out of here and get it some help, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock gnawed on his bottom lip. Dim wasn’t the person that he was willing to trust in most situations, especially this one.  
  
He continued sewing John up before maneuvering enough to work on the back of his shoulder. He didn’t pay much attention to what was happening around him but he knew that they were engaged with some Germans. The other man could do just fine with out him and if he had to work, he’d be more of a hinder.  
  
By the time he finished John was pale, hot, and clammy. His body was in shock and if they didn’t get out of there soon then it was not going to be good.   
  
“Don’t die on me,” He buried his face in the crook of John’s neck. “Please, please, please.” Sherlock’s whole body was shaking.  
  
His breathing was shallow and his pulse was too hard to find.  
  
“We’re getting out of here, Ox, we’re going to get him some help.” Bill assured him with pat on the back.  
  
“Sherlock.” John mumbled.  
  
Sherlock’s eyes shot open wide, “John?”  
  
His eyes were still closed so he was wondering if he had made that up. He must have made it up because the man was completely unconscious and was most likely to be that way until he was probably taken care of.  
  
“We’re going to get you help.” Sherlock checked his pulse again.  
  
Before he knew it they were off the line and a medic was shimmying into the tank, “Sniper?”  
  
“Ah, yes,” Sherlock looked around to find it was only him left in the tank.   
  
“He was shot in the left shoulder and I sew him up.”  
  
“Hmm, ok, we’ve got to get him out of here and to a hospital.”  
  
He let out a long sigh because whoever designed the godforsaken tank, didn’t think once about getting injured men out without hurting them anymore.  
  
Sherlock lifted John and the medic, with the help of Bill, pulled him out.  
  
“We’re going to take him to a hospital down the way to see if we can get him stable.” The medic said as the rested John on the stretcher.  
  
“Will we be able to find out if he’s ok later?” Sherlock asked, looking down at John as he walked with them to the ambulance.  
  
The medic just shrugged. He had done this far too many times during the war. Sherlock wondered if he looked as exhausted as him.  
  
“We’ll ask Nichols.” Lestrade said calmly behind him as John was lifted into the ambulance.  
  
“We’ll take the best care of your mate, Private.” The medic said before closing the doors.  
  
Sherlock stood there and watched the ambulance speed off, feeling rather numb.  
  
“You should sit.” Bill passed him a cigarette. “We’ll get some water for you to wash your hands.”  
  
He fingers quaked as he slid it between his lips.  
  
He felt his knees quivering so he sat down heavily on the grass and just stared down at his hands that were covered in John’s blood, letting the cigarette hang from his lips.  
  
Sherlock had never felt for anyone the way he had felt for John. It was a mistake to let himself fall into such an intense relationship. He should have kept it casual, a battlefield fling. Nothing but trade between a couple of mates. But he didn’t. He had never been more stupid in his entire life.  
  
Now he was sitting there covered in John’s blood, wondering if the other man was going to survive. If John died then his life wouldn’t look as bright as it had earlier that day. He had the next years planned out for them, even with John staying in the army. They would have been together and happy.   
  
Sherlock faced an empty future without John. How did one person make such an impact? He was fine alone before. It made no sense to him.  
  
“Here,” Bill knelt in front of him with a canteen. “You need to wash up, yeah?” He took the cigarette from Sherlock’s mouth and tossed it aside.  
  
Sherlock let Bill pour the water into this hands and scrubbed it off with a spare rag.  
  
When he finished they sat silently until Lestrade spoke up, “How about a cuppa?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Anything to eat?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You should change.”  
  
“I do not need you lot to mollycoddle me!” Sherlock snapped, jumping to his feet.  
  
“You’re not ok. Let us help you, that’s what we’re here for.”  
  
“I’m fine.” He bit as he climbed back onto the tank.  
  
“I don’t need anyone.” He muttered to himself.  
  
Someone had done their best to clean up the blood because the hull was near clear of it but Sherlock could still smell it. He sat where John had been and finally let the emotions overwhelm him. He cried like he had never cried before. He couldn’t remember the last time he had shed a tear but it was as if he was making up for that all in that moment.  
  
Once he calmed down he noticed John’s pouch sitting on the floor of the hull. He picked it up and rummaged around for his ronson and journal because those were the only things that he really wanted.  
  
Sherlock leaned his head back against the tank and closed his eyes.  
  
“Hitler’s dead. The bloody bastard shot himself, didn’t even have the decency to let us do it.” Lestrade said, making far too much noise as he clambered into the tank.  
  
“I don’t want to talk, Lestrade.”  
  
“About John, yeah? I know. I just thought you’d want to know that we’re nearly home free.”  
  
Sherlock rubbed his face because John was going to miss the end of the war. He had gone so far but he was going to miss the best part of it all.  
  
“Sure you don’t need anything?”  
  
He shooed Lestrade away and closed his eyes again. It was going to be a long journey to the end without John around.

***

Over the next few days Sherlock retreated into himself, only talking when he had to pass down what was being said on the radio. The men left him alone and they never replaced the empty seat in the tank with someone else.  Bill was back in command, which was much of a relief to Sherlock because he could only handle so much change at once.  
  
They had got word that John had survived but was in terrible condition, his fever was out of control and was fighting a horrid infection. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, not giving Sherlock any peace of mind.  
  
Sherlock never stopped thinking about John, not for one minute. It was a surprise that he could done he job well enough to get the men the information that they needed.  
  
He spent any free time reading John’s journal because it gave him some type of comfort. When he read it he could hear John’s voice in his head as he read the words on the paper. He could picture John writing these things in the various locations that he was stationed at the time.  
  
The beginning of it was from before Sherlock arrived and it didn’t offer much of anything he didn’t know about. The other man wrote about losing James and how hard it was to deal with. Sherlock didn’t enjoy how much he could relate to it even though John was still alive. He understood John’s emptiness. He wished that he never fell in love with John and John noted he had those same thoughts about James.  
  
Sherlock had yet to make it to entries that involved him. He really didn’t want to read about himself. It would bring up too many feelings that he didn’t want to deal with.  
  
All he wanted was to see John, he didn’t want to read his ruddy journal.

***

 **3rd May, 1945. Hamburg, Germany**  
  
They fought their way into Hamburg and the finally crossed the River Elmb into the city. What they were confronted with was a city in ruin. It looked like Sherlock felt inside and he found it oddly fitting that their war was coming to an end in this city.  
  
“This is horrible.” Bill said, shaking his head. “Reminds me of the beaches of Normandy… except possibly worse.”  
  
“Smells like death. These poor people…” Dim let out a long sigh.  
  
“Poor people?”  
  
“It’s not all their faults.” Dim defended himself to Lestrade.  
  
“Mmm, true…”  
  
“John would have loved to be here for this surrender.” Bill changed the subject because it could be touchy for everyone. Not that talking about John was much better for their morale.  
  
“Do you think his fever down yet?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged, fingering the lighter in his pocket. “It’s not as if I’m there with him.”  
  
“When we get out of here, are you going to go see him, Sherlock?”  
  
“As long as he wants to see me, of course. Or if I can find out exactly where he is. I’m sure they’ll move him back to England at some point.”  
  
“Why wouldn’t he want to see you?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged, “Things change over time don’t they?”  
  
“He loves you, mate.”  
  
“That’s here, not in the real world.” Sherlock said quietly.  
  
“You still think he’s going to run off on you with some bird he has no interest in?”  
  
Sherlock glared at Bill.  
  
“What you thought we never heard what you both were talking about?” He chuckled.  
  
“I’m not that naive, of course but I thought you’d have the common decency to pretend that you didn’t hear it. I guess I thought a bit to highly of you.”  
  
“I’m just trying to ease your mind, Ox.” Bill assured him.  
  
“Easing my mind would be getting me out of here and on my way to see John.” He licked his chapped lips.  
  
“If I could, I would. Why don’t you con act your father? You have the connections, use them.”  
  
“I refuse to use them for anything. They probably wouldn’t stand for me leaving to see the man I fancy.” He knew he parents had some sort of understanding that he was queer but he was sure that like everyone else who wasn’t, they’d reject him.  
  
“It’s just a thought.” Bill glanced at him. “You need to calm down though, mate. You’re wound up too tight.”  
  
Sherlock just waved him off and went on to listen to the radio.

***

 **15th May, 1945. Kiel, Germany**  
  
Following V-E Day Sherlock spent all of his free time reading John’s journal. He finally let himself get into the parts that involved him because he realized that his curiosity was too strong to ignore it.  
  
 _20th  April, 1944: I met Sherlock Holmes today. He’s a bit odd but interesting. I need to learn more about him…_  
  
 _1st May, 1944: I’m going to start talking to this journal like it’s you Sherlock. I know you’re going to think I’m barmy but I don’t care very much…_  
  
 _12th June, 1944: Bill knows that I’m falling for you. I hate myself because of this, you know. I had my heart broken because of James. I don’t need that with you…_  
  
 _14th June, 1944: Getting you alone in a house and having the chance to lay you out on the floor did not go as planned. We rushed it, why did we rush it? We had plenty of time off, I should have explored your body. I should have kissed each freckle and scar. I hope I get a chance to do it…_  
  
 _19th July, 1944: I know you don’t believe in luck or god but I’m lucky to have you. I’m lucky to be a live. I’m lucky to have some higher power place you in my life…_  
  
 _5th August, 1944: Jesus, you’re amazing. I know I’ll tell you that as long as I know you but I’ve never seen anyone do anything with as much passion as you played the violin…_  
  
 _15th November, 1944: You’re never going to be alone again. You’re never going to be an outsider. Anyone who treats you like that will get chinned like those blokes we met in town…_  
  
 _20th December, 1944: I’m not sure what I’m going to do without you for over a month. I wish I could take you with me. I know you’ll miss me terribly but will never admit to such a thing…_  
  
 _7th February, 1945: I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I hope you’re ok back on the line…_  
  
 _25th February, 1945: So we’re going steady now, I guess you could say. We’re a couple. I’m so happy to have a second chance at love with you… Being back in your arms today after not seeing you for so long was so comforting… I’m so happy that you feel the same…_  
  
 _7th April, 1945: We’re in a bed! Together! Alone! I can’t wait to be able to go home to you whenever possible. I should join you in sleeping as well but I like to take the opportunity to watch you sleep like this. I love you, I have said that to you but I do…_  
  
There was nearly nothing to do now that they moved from Hamburg to Kiel so he had a lot of time on his hands so he finished it rather quickly. When he was done he went on to adding to the writing that he had been keeping for John. He said that he was documenting their experience so he wanted to continue it for him.

***

 **7th June, 1945. Kiel, Germany.**  
  
“I don’t understand why we’re still here. All we do is drink and fight.” Lestrade said as Sherlock sat next to him near this tank, turning over John’s lighter in his fingers.  
  
Lestrade had a point. There were military men all over the place letting off steam, enjoying peace for the first time in years. They were always drinking and being loud and annoying. It didn’t help that they were apart of the filthy fifth.  
  
“It’s pointless.” Sherlock muttered. “I just want to get out of here.”  
  
“Don’t we all?” Lestrade sighed loudly, grating Sherlock’s nerves.  
  
Everything everyone did was even more bothersome to Sherlock than normal. In the last month plus he realized how much of a buffer John was between him and the rest of the men. He also realized how much John entertained him with the smallest things, like their conversations.  
  
“Ox, you’ve got mail.” Dim tossed a letter at him.  
  
His heart skipped a beat, thinking that it was John. He hadn’t been contacted by him yet and was dying to hear how he was.   
  
Sadly it was from Mycroft. Possibly the last person on earth that he cared to receive a letter from.  
  
“What is it?” Dim questioned.  
  
“My brother being annoying.” He skimmed the letter quickly. It mainly was about how the family missed him so and how mummy couldn’t wait for his return home.   
  
Then his eyes landed on John’s name. Of course the infuriating man would somehow know that he cared to know what happened to him,  “John’s back in London, finally. He should be out of the hospital soon. He’s finally free of his infection.” Sherlock said with a slight smile because it gave him some hope that he would be hearing from the other man very soon. Even if he didn’t he’d be able to go visit him as soon as they got out of godforsaken Germany.  
  
“How does he know you’d like that information?”  
  
“He says that he knew he was the Sergeant of our troop and thought I’d like to know. He likes keeping tabs on me so I’m not surprised about this, frankly. For once I’m all right with his prying.” Sherlock tucked the note into John’s journal.  
  
“John will be happy to see you.”  
  
He just nodded, reaching for a cigarette. Sherlock desperately hoped that Bill was right and that John wasn’t second guessing things from his hospital bed.

***

 **1st July, 1945. Glasgow, Scotland.**  
  
“When Christopher comes home…” Harry said over her glass, looking a bit afraid to bring up the conversation.  
  
“I know.” John squeezed the fist of his shaking hand. “I just got my discharge papers from the army today. Can you give me a moment to let me figure out what I am going to do with my life?” He snapped at her.  
  
“Go to school.” She said simply.  
  
He clenched his jaw. John was exactly in shape to become a doctor. He had the tremors in his hand that was probably from nerve damage to his shoulder along with an annoying limp. No one would take him as a doctor. No one would hire him for any job. He was going to have to live off of his army pension the rest of his life.  
  
“I’ll start looking for a flat as soon as I can.” John said, a bit more calm now. He knew that Harry was scared of her husband, it wasn’t her fault that she was pushy over John leaving. He wished he could just get her out of her situation but when he tried before she wouldn’t listen to him at all. “Just give me a moment.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Chris will be back in a few weeks. That gives me plenty of time to get sorted.”  
  
“What about that special someone in your troop? Is he going to be coming home to you?”  
  
John shrugged.   
  
He didn’t think Sherlock would want him like this. He was completely useless and Sherlock was the complete opposite. The other man was better off finding someone who could keep up with him, someone who had just as much potential.  
  
The real world wasn’t meant for them. John had decided that after months of pondering in his hospital bed. In theory they would have been fantastic together but it’d be far to suspicious for them to live together. People would certainly talk. Plus, John was far below Sherlock’s station. No doubt Sherlock’s mother would want him married to some horrid woman, it was probably all written out on paper in order for him to get his inheritance. He needed to do what was best for Sherlock.  
  
Hopefully he could just forget about the other man. It had been over two months since they had spoken. Neither of them had even wrote one another.  
  
It was just a battlefield romance. John needed to accept that so he wouldn’t have his heart broken again.


	14. In The Real World

**21st July, 1945. Berlin, Germany.**  
  
They were finally attending a victory parade and they were going to be able to go home soon. It was this whole big thing with Churchill and other higher ups but Sherlock didn’t care about it one bit. Sherlock couldn’t wait to return to John. It didn’t matter to him that he had to go to Scotland to find him. It’s been took long since they spoke, they hadn’t even wrote each other. It had been three whole months, he was terrified that John had changed his mind.  
  
Sherlock did his best to not drive himself round the twist by writing to John in the blank pages of his journals. Letters to John because he couldn’t get in touch with the man any other way. He could ask his brother for the address but that would be too much. He could understand why John hadn’t written him since he was shot in his dominant arm.  
  
The parade had ended and they were waiting for Captain Nichols to tell them what to do. All Sherlock cared to do was to get home but there was not happening for two weeks according to Captain Nichols. He couldn’t understand what use he was anymore but he could stand another two boring weeks.  
  
“Sherlock,” He heard a very familiar voice call his name.  
  
“Father.” He cleared his throat.  
  
“You look so skinny.” He dad stood in front of him. “You’re mother is going to be very disappointed in that.”  
  
“This is your dad?” Dim asked, wide eyed.  
  
“Yes.” He said dismissingly.  
  
“‘Ello, sir, it’s nice to meet you.” Lestrade said with a big grin.  
  
“You as well, thank you all for your service and for getting my son home without a scratch. I’m sorry about your crew commander. My other son was keeping an eye on you and he said that he was shot.”  
  
“Yes, sir, and your son saved his life. If it wasn’t for him, who would have known what would have happened.” Bill said. “He closed up the wound so John wouldn’t bleed out.”  
  
“I’m not sure why you would tell him that. He probably wants to knight me or something utterly ridiculous.” Sherlock scoffed.  
  
“Son, that’s amazing, you should want some acknowledgement.”  
  
“He did a great job. He’s been an asset here.” Bill smiled, “You should knight him if you can.”  
  
“I’ll keep it in mind.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere making important decisions or did that end when the war ended here?”  
  
“I actually do have to get going. Your mother is excited to see you so please come home and stay home for a few days before flitting off.”  
  
Sherlock just nodded.  
  
“I’ll see you in a few weeks.”  
  
“Yes, father.” He reached for his cigarettes as his crew said good bye to his father.  
  
“You don’t need to be so mean to him, he seemed very nice.”  
  
His father wasn’t a terrible man but he annoyed him greatly like nearly everyone did.  
  
“I bet you can’t wait to be home.”  
  
“We’ve had this discussion numerous times.” He groaned.  
  
Sherlock was sick of talking about seeing John, he needed to be with him and hold him and kiss him.  
  
“It’s nearly time, Ox, nearly time.” Bill assured him.

***

 **10th August, 1945. Glasgow, Scotland.**  
  
Once he was finally out of Germany he went home to take a real shower and find his real clothes and sleep a few nights in a real bed. He didn’t stay as long as his mother would have liked. Once he got John’s address out of Mycroft he took the train up to Glasgow.  
  
The whole trip he felt anxious and sick to his stomach. Sherlock had no idea why though. He hated being in love. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. But he also enjoyed it immensely when he was with John. But he needed to be with him to feel good. That was horrible.  
  
He was waiting outside of John’s building because John was not home so he was stuck out in the rain. The man didn’t have a job, to Sherlock’s limited knowledge at least, so he wasn’t working. Sherlock assumed he was maybe at the hospital or out at the shops.  
  
“Sher… Sherlock.” John stuttered and nearly dropped all his groceries. He looked as if there was a ghost standing on the steps.  
  
“John.” Sherlock said quietly, taking him in. It was strange seeing him in ordinary street clothes. He wasn’t wearing anything spectacular, he would have blended it with a group of regular Glaswegian citizens. Except there was a cane and a limp. He looked unhealthy and far too skinny.  
  
What shocked him the most was that John wasn’t happy to see him. Sherlock stomach felt like a stone. This was not going to go well.  
  
After a long moment of just staring at one another Sherlock finally broke the silence, “May we go inside to chat? I’m soaking.” He said, his throat suddenly dry.  
  
“Um, yeah, that would be ok.” John limped past him.  
  
“What happened to your leg?”  
  
“Nothing that I can figure out. It was just like that after I woke up.” John spoke quickly as he let them into the building.  
  
“I’m glad you’re ok.”  
  
John didn’t answer.  
  
They walked down the hall in silence to John’s small one room flat. There wasn’t much to see but a, table, and chairs. It was very depressing.  
  
“I thought you’d be happier to see me.” He spoke as John closed the door. Sherlock turned his back to John for a moment and made a face at how terrible that line was.  
  
“I thought since you didn’t get in touch with me then we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.” John set his bags on the table.  
  
“This conversation… You don’t want to be with me anymore? I didn’t get in touch with you because I was unsure if I sent a letter it would actually get to you. I apologize if you thought I didn’t want to be with you.” Sherlock said softly. “I, ah, why must we have this conversation? I came to see you because I want to be with you.”  
  
“We’re back in the real world, Sherlock.”  
  
“What about it? I thought we had a plan, a very good plan. We’d move into together as flatmates. No one would be wise we were anything more than that.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.  
  
John gripped his fist, staying standing as Sherlock took a seat, “That was a nice fantasy but we both know that’s not how it’s going to work.”  
  
Sherlock bit his lips, trying to think of a way to convince John that he was barmy, “Didn’t you miss me?”  
  
“Yes, but I realized that our plans weren’t possible. You can do so much better.”  
  
He scoffed, “Better than you, I think not.”  
  
“Finish your studies then you should find a woman and have children to please your mother.” John crossed his arms.  
  
“Did you occur some type of damage to your brain in the whole ordeal or dying the aftermath of your injury because you know that I’m never going to be interested in touching a woman?” Sherlock shot back up to his feet. “I read your journals, I know that you love me.”  
  
“I fall in love easily.” John looked down at his shoes, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. “You deserve better.”  
  
“You are what I deserve. Sometimes I’m unsure if I actually deserve you because you’re far too good of a person for me.”  
  
“I’m not, Sherlock.”  
  
“You are.” He wanted to grab John and just shake some sense into him.  
  
“I’m sorry that you came all this way—“  
  
“No!” Sherlock bit out. “No, you’re not allowed to push me away. Last year I told you that I didn’t fall in love and that I didn’t get involved but I did with you. You are extraordinary, John Watson. I’m supposed to be with you, no one else.”  
  
“I’m not extraordinary, Sherlock. I’ve a bum arm and a limp that makes no sense. I’ve been discharged from the army and I highly doubt that I can read medicine at any uni. I’m going to be stuck in some low paying job, just getting by. You are going to go on and do great things.”  
  
“Which I’d like you by my side for.” He frowned.  
  
“I can’t even really afford school as it is. I get enough money a month for this flat and food. I need a job.”  
  
“You need to go to school and you need to join me in London.”  
  
“I’m not going to live with you and use you for your money.”  
  
“I know you won’t because you’ll be attending uni.”  
  
“Sherlock, please stop it.”  
  
“Me, stop? You’re the one that is being ridiculous. You must understand that I love you and want to be with you. I apologize for not writing you but as I said I didn’t believe the letter would get to you. I came here from London, three days after I returned to Blighty to see you because I want to be with you. It’s so different being back and I hoped that you’d be there to help with the readjustment. I assumed we were going to start our life together.”  
  
“It was just a fantasy.” John clenched his jaw. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I really am sorry.”  
  
“So you want to be lonely the rest of your life or are you going to pretend to love some woman like you want me to do?”  
  
He shrugged.  
  
“You’re not pathetic but you’re going to end up being that way.” Sherlock dug out John’s journal and placed it on the table. “I know how you feel. I’ve deduced it and I can back it up with facts from that journal. I can go on the rest of me life like I had before but you won’t be happy if you do the same.”  
  
“Sherlock… I… I’m not sure what I should say to you. I apologize if I led you on.” John was lying.  
  
“What happened to change your mind? Was it really just the injury?”  
  
“It’s not just an injury. But yes that changed my bloody life.”  
  
“Obviously, John. Do you not love me anymore?”  
  
John worked his jaw, “No.”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You’re bloody lying. You're a terrible liar.”  
  
“I just need you to understand that this is for the best for the both of us.”  
  
“No, you need to understand that the best thing for the both of us is you packing up your belongings and traveling with me to London.”  
  
“It’s not that easy.”  
  
“But it is!” He snapped at the other man, waving his arms around. “Why are you making this more complicated than it needs to be?”  
  
“Because your reality won’t be as you fantasied it to be on the battlefield. I’d been home long enough to realize that.”  
  
“You realized that you wanted to be with me when you were away. This is just because you’re hurt. I know that I want to be with you.”  
  
“How do you, you don’t even get involved with others? This was the first time you were ever with another person, for something more than a shag. Sherlock, this was all due to circumstance. If we weren’t stuck in a tank together for so long, you wouldn’t have ever met me. We wouldn’t have fallen for one another and you would have been just fine.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t know what to say to get John to see that he was just having a bad time of it.  
  
“Just please go, Sherlock. We’re better off without going through this later on.”  
  
“Fine, you’re probably right. I made an error, I never will again.”  
  
John frowned, “No, don’t say that.”  
  
He rolled his eyes, “I should go now.”  
  
“I do apologize.”  
  
“You’re only hurting yourself, John. You’re the one who is lying through their teeth.” He stood up straight. “Have a wonderful life, good luck with your studies.”  
  
Sherlock left John’s flat without another word. He felt sick as he walked to the train station, needing to get out of the city of Glasgow and back into London as soon as humanly possible. He knew he needed to put his walls back up and get on with his life.

***

After Sherlock left John felt terrible for breaking Sherlock’s heart but it was probably better now instead of later. They dreamed up a life in the battlefield because it took them away from what they were doing but it was unrealistic. Especially now that he was nearly useless.  
  
John sat down and skimmed through his journal, noticing that it had been filled all the way. When he had left it, there had to be a quarter of it empty but now Sherlock’s large scrawl took over the formerly blank pages.  
  
He felt his heart clench as he began to read the words:  
  
 **30th April:** _John, I know that I do not believe in your god or any god for that matter but I am now praying that you are okay…_  
  
 **3rd May:** _We’ve talked about you a lot today and how much you would have wanted to be here for the surrender of Hamburg. It’s making me miss you even more than I had before…_  
  
 **7th June:**   
_Dearest_  
 _Kindest_  
 _Loveliest_  
 _John,_  
  
 _The pandemonium has faded_  
 _Smoke has cleared_  
 _Bodies lie bloodied and rotting_  
 _Holes torn through their flesh_  
  
 _I think of you_  
 _Pale and shaking_  
 _Crimson blossoming on your chest_  
 _My name on your lips_  
  
 _I think of you_  
 _Warm and trembling_  
 _Sweat coating your skin_  
 _My name on your lips_  
  
 _I wonder if you’re better now_  
 _If you miss me more than I you_  
 _Does your body ache_  
 _Do you dream of me_  
  
 _I dream of you_  
 _Of your laugh_  
 _The way your eyes crinkle when you smile_  
 _How you whisper sweet words_  
  
 _No words are enough to convey my love,_  
 _Yours truly,_  
 _Forever,_  
 _Sherlock_  
  
John shut the journal, not wanting to read any more of what Sherlock had wrote because it was only going to make the situation worse. What he did was right for them both, he just had to remind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd revisit Sherlock secretly liking poetry.


	15. Interlude

John spent a few months down on himself, with no real prospects for the future. He spent endless nights in his bed, bothered by nightmares and flashbacks of the war. Everything was far too to quiet and his mind always went straight to the battle field and getting shot. When it wasn’t horror, it was dreams of Sherlock, which were possibly worse because he woke up feeling empty and alone.  
  
After month of quiet, terrorizing boredom he received a surprise. It was from Siger Holmes, Sherlock’s father, and John nearly burnt it but he decided to read the letter. It was informing him that Sherlock’s father was giving him the money to go through medical school to become a doctor. He was grateful to him and his men for getting Sherlock through the war without a scratch so he said that it was the least that he could do.  
  
Of course, John refused at first. He sent a letter saying he was thankful but could not let the man pay for him. He received a letter back saying Siger would not take no for an answer and if John did not attend school then he was going to be very upset because a man should not waste their mind and passion. With that, he figured that he was going to go barmy if he didn’t do something productive soon so he took the money and enrolled at the University of Glasgow Medical School.  
  
Soon his trembling hand went away but he still had his limp, at least he would be able to work though the limp. He planned on being a surgeon but he knew he was going to come up against some things when he limped into an interview with the chief of staff. He already received those looks in classes.  
  
He tried his hardest not to think of Sherlock but of course it happened every so often because how could he not think about that man? When he did he always found himself fall into a little bit of a slump. He never went out on dates and never slept with anyone else. He drowned himself in course work so he wouldn’t think about him.  
  
Eventually it was time for him to put his knowledge into use and he decided that he wanted to transfer to a school in London to finish up his degree. The tricky part about moving though was his living arrangements, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to afford London. He could barely afford Glasgow. Maybe he could get a flatmate…

***

The years following the war and breaking things off with John, Sherlock flung himself into solving crimes. When he wasn’t experimenting or working on all the small cases he could get his hands on, he was busy drinking and whatever drugs he could get his hands on. The different highs were just as interesting, if not more than, the cases he got his hands on.  
  
He cut himself off from his family and lived in a small flat in a bad part of the city. Of course his family tried to push their way into his life but he wouldn’t let him. He made acquaintances with the people who lived on the street because he realized that they could be handy in certain situations. But he never made friends because he couldn’t see the point. It wasn’t as if he was stuck in the tank with anyone.  
  
Sherlock didn’t think about the war, he stored it all away in his mind but he never thought about it. He didn’t sit there and turn it over in his head. He rarely let himself think of John either because when he did it ended up terribly. He figured the man was probably right about their relationship. He had no background in what being with someone was like. The whole affair was probably just due to circumstances.  
  
Every so often, though, he thought of John and missed him terribly. He would sit around and stare at the ceiling with fiddling with John’s lighter that he never returned. It was the worst feeling in the world. That normally lead to experimenting with whatever he could get his hands on.  
  
 Four years after returning home Sherlock was wandering around London in the middle of the night when he stumbled upon a crime scene. He deduced what had happened and linked the murder to the dead woman’s husband in under five minutes.   
  
When he looked up, finally acknowledging there were others around him, he found Dimmock and Lestrade looking at him with wide eyes, “Bloody, Ox!” Dim exclaimed.  
  
Lestrade pulled Sherlock aside and told him that he needed to clean his act up and maybe he’d get in touch with future cases.  
  
Sherlock decided that the prospect of working with Scotland Yard and solving actual murders over took how cocaine, heroin, and everything else made him feel so he cleaned up. It was harder than he thought it would be but he did it.  
  
Soon enough he was the world’s only consulting detective. He didn’t exactly make much money but it was worth it.


	16. Meeting Again

**August 2nd, 1950. London, England.**  
  
John was taking a stroll through the park, attempting to pass sometime in his empty day. He had a few weeks before starting the practical part of his education and was attempting to get the lay of the land in London. He had visited when he was a young boy with his aunt and uncle but didn’t remember much about it aside from the tourist sights.  
  
“John Watson?” A fat man said from the bench he had passed. He looked somewhat familiar but John couldn’t place it. “Its Mike, Mike Stamford.”  
  
John stopped and looked at the man. He had grown up down the street from Mike when they were school boys. The last time John saw Mike was before he shipped off to Africa, Mike was on his way to becoming a doctor.  
  
They chatted for a bit, catching up on their lives over the last ten years. Mike had been turned down from joining up when things got tight due to medical problems so he ended up continuing university and becoming a doctor as planned, “I work over at St Bart’s now.”  
  
“Really? That’s where I’m about to finish studying.”  
  
“Jolly good, it’s a fantastic place.”  
  
“I’m just not sure how I’m going to afford living in London on my pension for very long though.”  
  
Mike frowned, “Why not get a flatmate?”  
  
John scoffed, “Who would want me as a flatmate?”  
  
The fatter man laughed as if he couldn't believe something.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re the second person to say that to me today.”  
  
“Who was the first?”  
  
“A bloke I know… he’s probably still at the hospital if you would like to meet him.”  
  
“Living with some bloke I hardly know? That reminds me a bit of the army.”  
  
“Then maybe you’ll like it. He served, I’m not sure where but—“  
  
“Maybe we can share some terrible memories.”  
  
Mike looked uncomfortable with the whole thing but relaxed when John chuckled.  
  
“Shall we go over to St Bart's? I’m sure that he’s still there.”  
  
“He’s a doctor too?”  
  
“No, he’s… well, you just have to meet him.”

***

“This is one of the labs, you’ll be doing some studying here,” Mike said as the entered the laboratory. It was filled with chemistry equipment, typical to what he thought he’d find there.  
  
He looked over to the right corner to see a man with curly hair, leaned over a microscope. There was something oddly familiar about the bloke’s hands and hair, making his breath catch. It wasn’t until he spoke that he realized that it wasn’t just some chap.  
  
“You’ve found me a future flatmate, Stamford? That was fast, I told you no more than an hour ago.” The velvety voice spoke and John nearly fainted. He had to grab the counter in front of him with his free hand so he didn’t fall because the cane wasn’t enough to stay steady.  
  
John cleared his throat, about to speak but Sherlock looked up and locked eyes with him and he lost the ability to speak. He was sure his legs were going to give out from under him.  
  
It had been five years, he shouldn’t have been reacting like that.  
  
“John,” Sherlock’s eyes were wide.  
  
He had forgotten that Mike was standing next to him, You know one another? Fabulous, you’re right on your way to a flatshare.  
  
“Yes, we were in the same tank during the war. John was my commander.” That was an understatement.  
  
“I should be off now. I’ll let you catch up. See you lads later.”  
  
“I — ah… if I knew it was you who he was going to bring me to, I would have said no. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He moved to leave.  
  
“No, no, this is perfect.” Sherlock stood up, running a hand through his hair. It was wild and curly.  
  
John hated himself for thinking about how amazing Sherlock looked in his suit with beautiful hair doing what it wanted. John was happy to see he wasn’t using pomade to keep it back.  
  
“What?”  
  
“We know the worst about one another.” He said as if it was that simple.  
  
“I broke up with you… That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” John shook his head in disbelief.  
  
“I’m not asking you to be with me again.” Sherlock said quietly. “I’m asking you to share my flat. We can even fix it so we don’t interact.”  
  
He was flabbergasted.  
  
“This shouldn’t be a big deal.”  
  
“This shouldn’t a big deal?” He shouted at Sherlock. He was really yelling at him, he was just amazing that Sherlock didn’t seem to care about the past.  
  
John had broke his heart, Sherlock shouldn’t want anything to do with him. John had broke his own bloody heart while he was at it as well. He wasn’t sure if he could look at Sherlock every day without thinking about what had happened about five years ago.  
  
“It’s been long enough hasn’t it?”  
  
John just furrowed his brow, “I’m not sure if there’s ever a long enough for anything like that.”  
  
“Do you still have feelings for me?” He tilted his head.  
  
“No but we—”  
  
“We had a battlefield romance, right? Let’s move on, hmm? That was all just circumstance, correct?”  
  
John should have moved on by then. He should have been seeing someone else but no one could shape up to Sherlock in his head. He had wasted his first and second chance at love in a tank. Leaving Sherlock was the biggest mistake in his life and now he was standing there in front of him once again.  
  
Fate really wanted something to happen with them it seemed. At least he hoped.  
  
“Come see the flat tomorrow afternoon and we’ll talk about it then. I have a case to go finish that is of the upmost importance.” Sherlock threw on his coat in a fluid movement. John had forgotten about how graceful he was.  
  
“A case? You’re a detective.”  
  
“Consulting detective. The only one in the world.” Sherlock spoke quickly.  
  
“Consulting?” John raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I’m off. The address is 221B Baker Street. I’ll be there at three to meet with the landlady.” Sherlock winked before dashing out the door.  
  
He was left there to gape at the entire interaction.  
  
John was sure that he’d never run into Sherlock again. Even when he decided to move to London to finish school. It was such a big city, he was sure that there was no way. He was obviously wrong.  
  
He did need a place to stay and the flat was probably a decent place, knowing Sherlock’s posh background. But it was going to be a bit strange for him. How could they live together with their past? It was going to be nearly impossible. How was he even thinking that it could possibly a good thing? It ended terribly.  
  
After all these years he missed Sherlock whenever he thought of him. He thought of him far too much. Living with him was going to end horribly, he could just see it. He was going to end up heart broken again because Sherlock obviously didn’t love him anymore, why would he?  
  
He wondered if Sherlock knew that his father was paying for his education. If he didn’t he would probably be furious about it because he seemed to hate anything his family did. At least he did five years ago.  
  
Christ, he was completely barmy for even considering meeting him at the flat. But it was fate. It had to be fate.

***

Sherlock doubled over in the alleyway near Bart's and vomited on to his newly polished shoes.  
  
Why was he having such a reaction to seeing John after so long? He was supposed to be well over it all by now. The most ridiculous part of the whole thing was that John still had feelings for him. Unless he was reading John incorrectly, which was a possibility after so long. He knew that he had feelings for John as well and that made him feel even more sick.  
  
He surprised himself by telling John to meet him at Baker Street. He loved the location of the flat and the price was fantastic, thanks to Mrs Hudson. He just couldn’t afford it alone. John was the only person he could see himself living with, everyone else was an idiot. But he was doubting if he could really put himself through living with him once more.  
  
Sherlock pulled himself together, cleaned the vomit off his shoes with the scarf, and dug out a fag. He pulled out John’s lighter and cursed himself for still carrying that around. It was stupid that he still did that. It was just a nice lighter.  
  
“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Dim was sitting across from Lestrade’s desk.  
  
“I had mentioned to an acquaintance there that I was possibly looking for a flatmate and an hour later he brought John by because he’s looking for a flatmate as well.” Sherlock tried to sound casual about it but he knew that it was anything but.  
  
“Watson? Doc?” Lestrade almost dropped his coffee. “He’s in London?”  
  
“Yes, he’s pursing his degree in medicine so he will soon be an actual doctor.”  
  
“Bloody hell, what a coincidence.” Dim sat with his mouth hanging open. “So, what happened?”  
  
“He’s going to be stopping by my future flat to take a look.” Sherlock closed the door because he was sure the way the conversation was going to head.  
  
“What? He broke up with you.”  
  
Sherlock just glared at Lestrade.  
  
“Right, so, you can live with him? Are you going to go back with him?”  
  
“Why would I do that?”  
  
“Because he made the worst choice of his life…”  
  
When the men had found out that John broke up with Sherlock they were absolutely shocked. They said it was just because of what John had gone through and Sherlock already knew that. To his knowledge none of the men, including Bill, had contacted John over the last five years. He was sure John didn’t reach out to them because the man thought he was useless or something less because he was shoot.  
  
“You haven’t dated anyone since —“  
  
“Yes because I do not date.”  
  
“Would you date John again?”  
  
His mind immediately yelled yes but he thought that it was being outrageous. How could he do that with John all over again?  
  
“Do you want to hear how the man ended up with those bruises? It has to do with a riding crop.” Sherlock attempted to change the subject.  
  
“You would! You didn’t deny it.”  
  
“And put myself through that again?” He scoffed. “I have my work to focus on. I’m capable of living with John and not getting involved.” Sherlock probably wasn’t.  
  
“Work, work, work.” Lestrade rolled his eyes, “It’s all you do. You have to have a bit of an outside life.”  
  
“It’s important.”  
  
“You’re not happy.”  
  
Sherlock wasn’t entirely happy but he really didn’t need to be, did he?  
  
“All right, fine. You can do whatever you want and continue being unhappy. What’s going on with this case?”  
  
He was thankful that Lestrade listened to him and they moved on to work. But he spent the entire time thinking about John in some part of his brain. Then again, somewhere in his mind palace, he was always thinking of John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost done writing!!! I wrote the next chapter and the last chapter and I'm like half way done with the one in the middle. Hopefully it will be all done by the end of the weekend.


	17. A Study in Periwinkle

**August 3rd, 1950. 221B Baker St.**  
  
John pulled up to the potential flat in a cab to find Sherlock bouncing up and down on his toes outside. He remembered Sherlock doing that when he was bored of waiting outside the tank for something to do over five years ago.  
  
He still couldn’t believe that he was meeting Sherlock to look at a flat together. This was something that they could have done five years ago.  
  
After tossing and turning in his uncomfortable bed for most of the night, thinking of Sherlock, he got himself out of bed to dig out the journal he had written in from the war. He reread his old passages about Sherlock and the ones Sherlock had written as well (especially the bloody poem that John had memorized a long time ago). It was probably the worse thing he could have done but he didn’t care because breaking up with Sherlock made him feel even worse.  
  
He missed Sherlock every single bloody day but he tried not to think about how he did. Eventually he just became so used to the feeling that he didn’t give it much thought. It all came flooding back to him in less than 24 hours. It was like getting hit with a tidalwave of emotion.  
  
He debated not going to the flat because it was a bit to much but he had to deal with because John Hamish Watson was a sodding idiot. He made his own life far too complicated and lonely than it had to be. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock would want anything more from him than a flatmate. They needed to talk, they only talked about their feeling maybe twice in that whole year.  
  
“Good, you made it. Mrs Hudson is expecting us.” The taller man didn’t smile, he was completely unemotional. Just like he tried to be when he first joined the tank crew.  
  
There was so much remembering happening in John’s head he was a bit dizzy.  
  
He could tell that Sherlock was putting the act of him not really caring about the whole strange situation. The other man was far too calm, cool, and collected yesterday when they ran into one another. He knew that Sherlock put up an emotional wall but they were far too entangled when they were together for him to not feel something.  
  
John figured he should keep it strictly business until they had a moment in private, “Mrs Hudson is the landlady, yes?”  
  
“Obviously,” Sherlock knocked on the door.  
  
There was a moment of awkward silence before Mrs Hudson threw the door open. John wanted to make a run for it but then remembered his leg.  
  
She greeted Sherlock with a hug and kiss on the cheek. She seemed like a sweet lady but John thought there was a little more to her than met the eye. Of course, Sherlock would choose to live under her roof.  
  
Following introductions she showed the men up to the flat then left them to chat about it… after a reminder that she’d be their landlady and not their housekeeper.  
  
John looked around at the clutter. There were boxes and papers all over the floor and a skull on the mantle over the fireplace. The person who lived here was clearly eccentric, “This could be very nice —”  
  
“Yes I thought so, I moved some of my things—“  
  
“These are your things.” He laughed because it was so obvious that Sherlock would just assume John would move in with him. It should have been obvious that Sherlock was a madman who collected various things as well.  
  
“Yes,” The other man said quickly.  
  
It was quiet for a few moments while John looked around the flat and tried to think of a way to say, ‘I’m sorry. I still love you after all these years. Please take me back’ without being too overbearing. That was probably impossible.  
  
“We could make a schedule for when I’ll be in the kitchen and living room and when you will be. I’m sure we can come up with something feasible. I tend not to sleep much so I could do experiments in here at night while you have it in the morning.” Sherlock began to pace, throwing his hands about.  
  
“That’s a bit mad. Our lives can’t possibly fit into some schedule like that,” John looked at the top of one of the stacks of paper. It was notes on a crime where the man was decapitated.  
  
“So, you’re not going to move it.”  
  
“I… I think there’s some things that should be talked about before we move in… that doesn’t have to do with schedules.” John licked his lips.  
  
“What do you—“  
  
“Sherlock, dear, there’s a man here for you,” Mrs Hudson called up to them.  
  
“Let him up.”  
  
John cursed whoever it was coming up the stairs because he had finally had a moment of alone to talk.  
  
“It better be good.” Sherlock commented, “You’ll move in though?”  
  
“I don’t know. There’s so much—” John said as someone came into the flat.  
  
John looked over to see Greg Lestrade looking surprised, “Doc!”  
  
He took a moment to collect his thoughts, “Lestrade, it’s been a long time.”  
  
“Lestrade is a DI now. Dimmock is as well. I consult for them.”  
  
“Consult for them?” John looked between them.  
  
“Yes, that’s why he’s here. There’s a crime?”  
  
“I was on my way to the scene and was passing by here. I remember you saying you were going to be looking at the new flat around this time so I was curious if you’d be interested in looking at the case. It’s a murder. I was also interested in seeing the flat.”  
  
“You want me to solve the case so you can take the credit?” Sherlock was still a cocky git.  
  
“I thought you’d want something to do.”  
  
“I am doing something. John and I have things to discuss.”  
  
“No, that’s silly, there’s a murder for you to solve. We can talk later, you’ve work.” John smiled.  
  
Sherlock nodded, “Very well then. We’ll talk later. Leave your contact information with Mrs Hudson.”  
  
“Why doesn’t John come along? If you’re not busy that is. Dim down there, sure he’d love to see you.” Greg suggested.  
  
For a moment Sherlock looked very angry with the man then sighed, “That’s a brilliant idea. John loves danger and blood and all of that. It’s been some time since he had any type of excitement. Would you like to join?”  
  
“Yes,” John knew that came out far too fast because Greg’s eyebrows went up. He should have said no and gone right back to his bedsit.  
  
“Very well, where is it?”  
  
“Brixton Road, an abandoned building over there.”  
  
“We’ll meet you at the scene.”  
  
“Ok… its good seeing you, Doc. It’s been too long.” Greg gave a bit of a wave before heading out of the flat.  
  
“Are you positive that you want to come along?”  
  
John nodded, “You don’t know that already?  
  
“I know you do, just as I know that you will move in but you’re shuffling your feet to do that.”  
  
He ignored the comment, “Shall we?”  
  
Sherlock took the lead and John followed him to a cab, questioning exactly how they got to where they were. It was like five years hadn’t past and they just jumped right in after the war. It was the strangest series of events.  
  
Again, they were surrounded by silence in the cab. It wasn’t really the place to discuss what John wanted to discuss so he had no idea what to say.  
  
“So, um, how’d you become a consulting detective? Did you finish school?”  
  
“Of course not. I told you, I did not need a degree to do this. I moved into my own flat and started to solve small cases for people. It was usually thefts, adultery, and other petty things. One night I stumbled on to a crime scene and solved a case for Scotland Yard, without them asking of course. But Lestrade and Dimmock were there so I sort of fell into it.”  
  
“What a coincidence, well you don’t believe in those though, right?” He chuckled.  
  
“I do not.”  
  
“That’s fantastic though. I’m glad you’re doing what you always wanted to do.” John said as Sherlock studied him. “What is it?”  
  
The other man shrugged.  
  
“We do need to chat, alone, later.”  
  
“About the whole… situation. But you’ll move in, you’d be crazy not to. The rent is perfectly within your budget.”  
  
“How do you know my budget?”  
  
“Because I know how much you’re receiving for a pension.”  
  
“Right.” John slumped in his seat, “That’s not what I want to talk about.”  
  
“Do you still want to…”  
  
“I’m not going do this in trailing off sentences here. It’s been five years, we’re going to chat like normal people.”  
  
Sherlock shifted and cleared his throat, “I’m not sure—”  
  
“We’ll talk later.” John assured him as the pulled up to their destination.  
  
He didn’t want to have his heartbroken in a cab because that sounded like where Sherlock was going with it. But he probably did deserve it with how they left things with their relationship. Why would Sherlock take John back even if he was pleading on his knees?  
  
John trailed after Sherlock through the street and into the abandoned building. It looked as if he switched his brain into a crime solving mode and he didn’t even care that John was there with him.  
  
Sherlock was attempting to take in every single aspect of the crime scene, it was truly amazing to see him work. John wondered if Sherlock found it as interesting when John was working in the tank.  
  
They entered the house and it was crawling with detectives and bobbies. Sherlock wasn’t stopped or questioned why he was there. They walked up the old stairs, John was about five steps behind Sherlock.  
  
Outside of the first room on the third floor Lestrade was speaking to Dimmock, “Oi, it’s Doc!”  
  
“The body,” Sherlock just shoved his way past them and into the room.  
  
“It’s been a very long time.” He nodded at them.  
  
“I nearly died when he said he ran into you. I didn’t mean to look so shocked back at the flat.” Lestrade said.  
  
“Are you really living with him?”  
  
“I’m not sure, it’s complicated.” John looked down at his cane. The men were probably wondering about why he was limping but haas glad to not have any questions. He never knew how to answer about the limp.  
  
“I think he misses you but I wouldn’t blame you for running, he’s gone barmy.” Dim said.  
  
“Mate, that’s not on.” Lestrade shook his head at the other man. “Whatever happens, we should get pints. Have you seen Dust since—”  
  
“John!” Sherlock yelled from the room.  
  
Both men looked at him, “So, you both just fell right back into things.”  
  
“No, it’s bloody awkward.” John sighed before joining Sherlock in the room.  
  
The Consulting Detective was crouched next to the body of a woman in a periwinkle dress. The body was face down, with one arm stretched over her head.  
  
“I need your medical opinion,” Sherlock gestured over the  
  
“I’m not a doctor yet.”  
  
“Yes, but you’re knowledgable, you’ve been studying even before you went to school. Tell me how she died.”  
  
“You don’t know.”  
  
“I want your opinion.” Sherlock huffed, clearly irked that John just didn’t do as asked right away.  
  
John knelt down, with trouble, next to the body. When he did he noticed her torn up finger nails and the word RACHE above her head.  
  
He felt her, she was cold. Then he turned her a bit, after getting the clearance from the DIs , to look at her face. He could smell vomit. He looked around the room and saw the puddle of sick in the corner near the window.  
  
“She was most likely poisoned.” John said.  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
“Where’s her handbag?” Sherlock stood up with a flourish.  
  
“There wasn’t one.”  
  
“Of course she has a handbag. Look at her, she’s dressed in a dress with matching shoes and her hair and makeup are done up for a night out. She’s fashionable, she would have a matching handbag.”  
  
John got up, leaning heavily on his cane.  
  
“So, what can you tell me about her?” Greg asked.  
  
“We’re looking for this woman’s husband or lover. Look at the state of her ring, it’s dirty on the outside but the inside is clean, meaning she took it on and off frequently but never cleaned it. That really shows the state of her marriage.  
  
“The word RACHE above her head is German for revenge. She probably left this for us to point us in the right direction. She is of German descent. I’m not positive yet. Need more data.  
  
“She was poisoned when she was brought here. There wasn’t a struggle so she trusted her murderer and didn’t know that she was being poisoned until it was too late.” Sherlock rambled off, pointing the various things that he referenced in his spiel.  
  
“Now if you’ll excuse me I have a purse to find because you’re far too incompetent to do so on your own.” Sherlock dashed off and John was left standing there over a dead body.  
  
“I guess I’ll be heading home.” John wondered if he had failed some type of test.  
  
“He does that when he’s in his work mode. Half the time I don’t know what he’s doing. I’m sure he’ll be coming after you once he finishes this case. It seems open and shut once we get that handbag. It will probably point us to the husband or the boyfriend.”  
  
John nodded, “I’ll be off and leave you to your work. I don’t want to be in the way.” He always felt like he was in the way.  
  
“We’ll get pints this week, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” He forced a smile.  
  
John left the house, he leg being in pain the whole way down all of those stairs. He knew that Sherlock wasn’t all for showing his feeling and getting emotional so it shouldn’t have been surprising that he went running the moment he had a chance to.  
  
He went back to his tiny bedsit, which felt even smaller and lonelier than it had the night before. Another ruined chance with his last soulmate. He was going to be alone the rest of his life.

***

 **August 5th, 1950. London, England.**  
  
Days later John was sitting on his creaky bed, feeling miserable. He had stayed in his room staring at the ceiling and feeling down since leaving in the crime scene. He was sure he was going to be alone forever.  
  
Then there was a telegram for him and all the dominos started to fall.

_Labs at Kings College._  
 _Woolworth building._  
 _9 pm tonight._  
 _Be prompt. Bring back up._  
 _Could be dangerous._  
 _-SH_

John made a face and reread it because it was just too mental to be real.  
  
First of all, he hadn’t heard from Sherlock since he was abandoned at the crime scene. John assumed that it was all over. Second, back up? What? Possibly his gun. That would make sense. Finally, why? Dangerous? Was Sherlock trying to get killed. That wouldn’t be too much to assume.  
  
It was all too strange but of course John went because John loved strange and scary.  
  
 When he arrived to his destination there were two identical buildings, lights were on in both. They were sighed both as Woolworth buildings. Suddenly he was struck with terror. He had no idea what could happen if he went into the wrong one.  
  
John picked a building and just started to run while yelling Sherlock’s name, a bit not good if there was a murder there or some type of gang of thugs. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so pumped full of adrenaline. Probably in war and probably with Sherlock by his side. God did he miss that.  
  
He made it down the corridor of the second floor and glanced out one windows to see Sherlock with a gun pointed at him by a woman in a pink dress. It was a strange sight to see.  
  
Without thinking he got the gun out of the back of his trousers, pointed, and shot.  
  
Then he ran because he needed to get away from the scene because he really didn’t want to get arrested for murder. The whole time, he prayed that he did the right thing.  
  
He ended up at Baker Street and Mrs Hudson let him in, saying how nice it was to see him.  
  
For two hours John paced the living room, waiting for Sherlock to show up. Mrs Hudson made him tea and gave him some biscuits, which he didn’t eat but it was nice of her.  
  
When he finally did Sherlock had the biggest smirk on his face. That made the knots in John’s stomach unravel and he took a deep breath.  
  
“What?” John laughed softly and stood up from the arm chair he had been sitting in.  
  
“I just saw a woman get shot.” His smile barely disappeared.  
  
“How terrible. I hope that it was a good reason.” John prayed that he did the right thing.  
  
“Yes, she was about to kill me. Would you believe that she was the victim’s partner? I’ll have to tell you about the whole case at some point. Whoever made the shot had a very good eye.”  
  
“Probably better than yours. Is that why you’re smiling?”  
  
“I’m smiling because your cane is missing and you’re not limping.”  
  
John looked around then thought back through the night. He didn’t even remember bringing it with him in the cab to the university, “Oh.” Who knew that shooting someone and being involved in Sherlock’s crazy life would do away with the mystery limp.  
  
Sherlock shrugged and took his cigarette case out, “So, are you moving here?”  
  
“I… do you want me to?” He turned down the offered fag.  
  
“I don’t mind. If you’d like, we can figure out a schedule.”  
  
“Sod the schedule, that’d be ridiculous. This is up to you, if we should move in together. I was the one to—” John stopped abruptly when he noticed the lighter in Sherlock’s hand as the man lit his cigarette.  
  
“What?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow before following John’s line of sight then looked down at the lighter.  
  
“That looks clean. You take care of it.” He recalled the deduction that Sherlock had made on the Periwinkle Lady’s ring. “You kept it up, got new flints. I thought it was long gone in Germany.”  
  
“Um, yes.” Sherlock looked down at it before attempting to pocket it.  
  
He grabbed Sherlock’s wrist to stop him, “I missed this, you know? You could have returned it with my journal.” He teased playfully but he was on the verge of passing out because he was sure that this moment would never happen.  
  
“I apologize.” Sherlock’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed after taking the fag out of his mouth with his free hand.  
  
“It’s all right.” John’s fingers were still around his wrist. “Do you want me?”  
  
“To move in?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“The other way?”  
  
“The other way, that’s vague for you. I get to be the vague one. Have you become vague in the last few years? You were always straight forward and to the point, weren’t you?”  
  
“You want to know if I would take you back after five years of you being a terrible person and believing you’re not good enough for me?”  
  
“Yes.” John squeezed his wrist, hoping for the answer that he so desperately wanted.


	18. Like Riding a Bike

**Before Baker Street…**  
  
After leaving the crime scene Sherlock discovered the Periwinkle Woman’s handbag (which was obviously in periwinkle as well) in a skip not too far away from where they were. He figured that whoever the killer was needed to get rid of the evidence quickly so they tossed it somewhere they thought no one would ever find it. The Yarders were idiots so they probably would have never known about it, if it weren’t for Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock found a chain in the bag but it was missing the charm that had hung from it. He found that out because there was a small hook the was broken in there as well.  
  
Lestrade and Dimmock had identified the woman via the husband and concluded that he did not kill her because he had a decent alibi and was extremely distraught about his wife’s death. He was out playing footie with a handful of other men earlier that night and from there they went out to the pub and got pissed. Far too many witnesses for him to slip away for an hour or more to kill his wife.  
  
The husband also didn’t give any information on a lover. Sherlock himself went to interview him and he was very surprised at the fact that she was cheating on him, there was no way he was lying.  
  
He asked the man about her charm and he said that it was of a heart with some pretty engraving his wife cherished. The husband told him that she had inherited it from her mother who passed away while he was off fighting in the mainland during the war. Sherlock found that story highly unlikely.  
  
Following the interview he went home and wrote an ad for a few papers looking for the charm, pretending to be acting on behalf of the husband but giving his contact information. He hoped the lover would contact the husband and kill him as well.  
  
The next day he received a phone call from a woman claiming that she found the charm in question on Brixton Road the night of the murder. Sherlock asked if he could meet her to retrieve it and she agreed. He couldn’t tell over the phone it she was lying so he choose to contact John to have him meet him there for back up incase it was just a ploy. Not that he needed John to help him before.  
  
He also figured he should reach other to him because Dimmock and Lestrade said that John didn’t think Sherlock wanted him around after he ran off. That was barmy because Sherlock felt the opposite. He was just unsure if he could let his guard down again. Having his heart broken once was enough.  
  
When he got there he was greeted by a small woman in a pink dress, her name was Rachel. Obviously. It was her. That was who the Woman in Periwinkle was pointing to.  
  
She worked as an administrative assistant in the college but had interest in chemistry herself so she snuck in at nights to conduct her own experiments. Sherlock deduced her family didn’t let her go to uni. She said that she left the charm in her lab so he followed her, staying alert to where he was. He hoped that John wasn’t too far behind, just in case.  
  
The girl was nervous about the meeting. Her hand shook on the lab door as she opened it. When she reached into her bag and pulled out a gun it shook even more.  
  
“I loved her.” Her lip quivered but her hand steadied, with Sherlock’s chest the target.  
  
“Then why did you kill her? You poisoned her with something you made in the lab, probably gave it to her to drink and took her to that house.”  
  
“She thought we were going on a date… She wouldn’t leave him for me. She said that she would but she didn’t.” Her eyes welled up with tears.  
  
“You fell in love during the war, when her husband was away.”  
  
“Both of our husbands. My husband died but her’s came back…”  
  
“I see. I fell in love during the war.” Sherlock figured he could talk his way out of it. “It took him five years to realize that he made a terrible mistake. Maybe she would have done the same.”  
  
That was the wrong thing to say because she raised the gun up higher towards his head, “You’re lying to me.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
“We were supposed to run away, go to New Zealand and run a farm. She had family there.”  
  
“You gave her the heart pendant.”  
  
“And I’m not giving it to you.”  
  
“No, you are going to give it to the police.” Sherlock said.  
  
“I’m not, I’m not going to jail. I’d rather die.”  
  
“So kill yourself. I don’t really care.”  
  
“But… but I need to kill you first. I don’t want to die as some… some dyke murderer.”  
  
He had a possible chance to be back with John even though it scared him, he wanted the chance to be with him. He couldn’t die before that. For some reason he couldn’t think properly to get out of the situation. There was obviously a way but he just kept getting himself into bigger trouble.  
  
“You really don’t.”  
  
“I do.” She took a deep breath and her finger moved to the trigger then there was a gun shot.  
  
Rachel fell to the floor.  
  
Sherlock looked around and there was no one in the room then he saw the bullet hole through the window. John saved his life. He would come through in the end because that was John. John was dependable and loyal, even when he did very stupid things.  
  
He needed to get home but he also needed to alert the DIs about the murderer being dead.  
  
Luckily Dimmock and Lestrade didn’t keep him very long and let him go after a short amount of questioning. Sherlock lead them on a wild goose chase for some random sharpshooter.  
  
He needed to find John. He immediately went to 221B because that was where John probably ran to because he needed to speak with Sherlock.  
  
Thankfully John was there. Waiting there in the living room, without his cane.  
  
They made some conversation but then John saw the lighter and there they were.  
  
He looked down at John’s hand on his wrist and closed his eyes. Sherlock missed those touches, no one else could touch Sherlock like John did. He never let anyone touch him like John did. Every other person he had slept with over the years never satisfied him, it was just something to do, a way to expend energy.  
  
“You want to know if I would take you back after five years of you being a terrible person and believing you’re not good enough for me?” Sherlock took a deep breath.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I do not believe in fate or god or whatever else it was you talked to me about for months in that tank but there must be some reason why you ended up in St Bart’s the other day. It’s been half a decade and I believed we’d never see each other again but here you are.”  
  
“Is that a yes, Sherlock?” John looked like he was in pain waiting to hear the answer.  
  
The best way he could think to answer was without words so he surged forward, took John’s face in his hands, and kissed him soundly. The lighter clattered on to the floor in the whole movement.  
  
He remembered what it was like kissing John but no matter how good his memory was he couldn’t completely recreate the feeling. It was consuming and made him feel lightheaded. He held on tighter to John.  
  
“This is real, right? I haven’t gone completely round the twist?” John asked with his eyes closed, still holding tight to Sherlock.  
  
“No, its real. Very real,” He kissed him again and backed him against the wall near the kitchen.  
  
“That’s what the Sherlock in my head always says to me.” John’s hands went to Sherlock’s hips.  
  
“This happens a lot?”  
  
“Mostly in dreams.”  
  
“You’re not dreaming. You know very well that you’re not dreaming.” Sherlock assured him before feathering kisses over his face.  
  
“I’m so sorry.” John gripped Sherlock’s shirt.  
  
He shook his head, “Save it for later.”  
  
“Later?” John pulled back with a questioning look. “What do you have in mind now?”  
  
“A shag.” He quirked a smile.  
  
“You’re moving fast.”  
  
“No, we used to shag all the time.”  
  
“Not all the time, we spent most of our time sitting inside of a tank.” John huffed out a laugh.  
  
“Which, we never got to shag in.”  
  
“We have a lot to talk about.” He felt John’s hands moved up his back.  
  
“I know but we do action first and then talk later. That’s how we’ve always done it.”  
  
“That’s true. At least tell me that your bedroom is a bit cleaner than the rest of the place.”  
  
“Would you like to see?”  
  
John laughed, a loud full belly laugh, “I just can’t believe it. You’re always moving so fast, trying to sleep with me.”  
  
“I have to pin you down or you run away.”  
  
“I’m normally doing the pinning… I ah, I used to at least.”  
  
“I was speaking metaphorically. And I did some pinning.”  
  
“You’re scared I’m going to run away from you again?”  
  
“You have a history of it.” Sherlock buried his face in the crook of his neck.  
  
“I know but I’m not running.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Sherlock begrudgingly stepped back from John. He didn’t want to move away from him but if he wanted to get him into bed then he needed to move, “Come on then.”  
  
“For this once, you lead I’ll follow.” John moved from the wall.  
  
“Never again?”  
  
“It depends on the circumstance,” He said with a smile before they finally moved to the bedroom.  
  
Sherlock walked so fast that when he got to the bedroom John wasn’t there yet, “I should have carried you in here.” He said when John entered a few seconds after him.  
  
“That’s a bit much,” John sat down on the bed. He looked nervous so Sherlock decided to straddle him and pressed kisses to every available spot of skin that he could.  
  
“I swear you smell the same.” John remarked after taking a deep breath.  
  
“It’s the adrenaline from the incident at the college.” Sherlock went to unbutton John’s shirt after tossing aside his tie.  
  
“Wait,” John stopped Sherlock’s movements.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“No one, with the exception of doctors has seen… it.”  
  
“It?” Sherlock made a face then felt like a complete idiot. Of course John would not want to show off his scar. Why hadn’t he thought of that?  
  
“The scar, from when I was shot. It’s ugly.”  
  
“Doubtful, I’m sure it’s interesting.” Sherlock ran his hand over John’s shoulder lightly. “Plus, it’s partly my fault that it looks whatever way that it looks, isn’t it?”  
  
“That’s…”  
  
“And what do you mean no one has seen it?”  
  
“I haven’t shagged anyone since… whenever it was the last time we were together.”  
  
Sherlock frowned and then went on to unbutton John’s shirt, “You’re a ridiculous man. If you didn’t love me or didn’t want me, you would have gone around doing what you pleased. Looking for someone new to love.”  
  
“Did you?”  
  
“I wasn’t looking for anyone to love. Relationships with anyone else would have been a waste of my time. I was far too busy for that and I knew I would never find another you.”  
  
“Your mother doesn’t want you to marry some lady?”  
  
“No, she’s on Mycroft to do that. My family knows about my predilection towards the not so fairer sex.”  
  
“They don’t care?”  
  
Sherlock shook his head as he undid the last button, “For how rich and how old money my parents are they have very progressive views. They’re both black sheep in the tree.”  
  
“And you always talk bad about your family? You shouldn’t. I’d kill for something like that.”  
  
“Let’s not talk of them anymore, I have far more interesting things that I want to be doing and thinking about.” Sherlock slipped off John’s shirt to reveal the knotted scar on his shoulder. “This is very you.” He placed a kiss on to the scar and John flinched.  
  
“What do you mean very me?”  
  
“I mean that on the surface you don’t look extraordinary but under there’s something so very intriguing about you, there’s more. There’s danger and intrigue.”  
  
“I’m not sure what to say to that. If I should take it as an insult or not.”  
  
“I don’t mean it as an insult. It’s something I enjoy about you. It may have not made as much sense coming out as it did in my head.” He nibbled on his earlobe.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about the scar. Just like I don’t want to talk about the limp disappearing for no reason at all. We can pretend that they don’t or never existed.” John pushed Sherlock’s jacket off.  
  
“How about we just not talk right now? My mouth could be doing other things.” He let his jacket fall to the floor before ridding himself of his tie and John was already working on his buttons.  
  
“That’s a good idea.” John laid back once the shirt was off, taking Sherlock with him.  
  
He forgot what it was like to be so close to John like this, it was nearly driving him mad. He couldn’t even get proper control over his coordination to undo John’s belt and the flies on his trousers.  
  
After John was properly naked, with a bit of a struggle because they both couldn’t stop touching and snogging one another, “I won’t last very long.” John’s breathing was labored and his cheeks and chest were flushed. “It’s been five sodding years.”  
  
“And about four months.”  
  
Sherlock couldn’t really believe that John hadn’t slept with another person over the years. How did the man fool himself so much when they broke up? “Don’t worry, I won’t expect too much. Anything is plenty at the moment. What do you fancy?”  
  
“I want you. I want to be in you but… I’m worried I won’t even get to penetrate you,” John laughed.  
  
“I don’t bloody care.” Sherlock nipped at John’s neck. “Stop your worrying.”  
  
After some more kisses and wandering hands John pulled back, making Sherlock groan at the loss of contact, “Ok, vaseline and a condom?”  
  
“In the loo, medicine cabinet,” He rolled off of John and sat up, to get his bottoms off because they were far too restrictive.  
  
“You’re making me get them. Of course you are.” John shoved him with a grin. “Fine, but if you’re still semi-clothed when I get back I’m going to… I don’t know…”  
  
“What a threat.” He teased as John went off. “You were much better at those things in the past.”  
  
John said loudly from the bathroom, “I was also fitter in the past. Those things aren’t a problem?”  
  
“I like that you’re a little soft around the middle.” Sherlock smiled to himself while he collected their clothes and put them on the chair in the corner of the room, nicely.  
  
“You couldn’t stand it to have your room in a tip but have you seen the rest of the flat?”  
  
“I’m in the process of moving.” He said, over his shoulder as he folded the jacket.  
  
He turned around to see John standing by the bed, “You’re looking very good.” John studied Sherlock.  
  
“Does that surprise you?”  
  
“You appear to be more skinny in your suit.” John explained as Sherlock hopped onto the bed. “I’m happy to see that you’re not just skin and bones.” He brushed his hand up Sherlock’s thighs and he shivered.  
  
“It’s an illusion, just like you pretending you’re a mild-mannered medical student.” He watched John open vaseline and slather some on his fingers.  
  
They were quiet for some time as John settled between Sherlock’s legs. When the other man’s digit circled around his hole he stopped breathing. Other people weren’t so kind to do this before sex. He had missed John so much.  
  
“I know how to find the prostate.” John smirked as he pressed his finger in slowly.  
  
“You always — oh fuck!” Sherlock arched up, completely taken by surprise.  
  
“I know but I can find it faster now.” He laughed and pressed his lips to his inner thigh. “I figured you would be impressed.” John pulled out and slowly added another finger.  
  
Sherlock relaxed into the sensation, remembering exactly how John’s fingers felt. How his gentle kisses to his stomach and thighs made him feel special.  
  
“I rather fancy this but I’d be all right if you don’t take much longer.” Sherlock groaned a little at the drag of John’s fingers inside him.  
  
“Ok.” John shifted a little, “Whatever you like.”  
  
A few minutes later John decided Sherlock was ready enough he pushed himself back up on to his knees and grabbed the condom. Sherlock could tell he was trying to not lose complete control of himself.  
  
Sherlock watched every move the other man made, going through the motions like they were completely familiar even though they had not been practiced in years. Everything about John and Sherlock seemed to be like riding a bike, they could never forget how to be together.  
  
John took Sherlock’s legs and wrapped them around his waist. He leaned down and kissed him, the whole time he lined himself up and began the slow press in. Sherlock mind felt as if it was filled with static until John stopped moving for a moment and kissed him.  
  
“Fucking hell.” John breathed against his lips as he got as deep as he could in the position they were in. “I missed this. I missed you. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Yes,” Was all the he could say because he apparently forgot how to speak when John was inside of him. He couldn’t remember if it was like that before. He couldn’t really remember anything. He had to remind himself to breathe.  
  
John moved slowly, trying to hold on to the moment as long as he possibly could.  
  
Soon he wrapped his hand around Sherlock, “If you don’t come like this—”  
  
“Nonsense,” Sherlock brought him into another kiss as his hand twisted on the uptake.  
  
The orgasm took him completely by surprise, it was as it there was no build up. It was like running into a brick wall. But good. Obviously.  
  
When he came back to earth John was beside him, smiling like an idiot.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“If you do not stop apologizing, I will be very angry.” Sherlock knew the threat was hollow and stupid.  
  
“Sor — ok, ok,” He yawned. “I’m so tired.”  
  
“Go to sleep.”  
  
“We need to talk though.”  
  
“We have plenty of time to talk.” Sherlock carded his fingers through his hair. “Have a kip.” Sherlock kissed him, lingering on his lips a bit.  
  
John agreed and Sherlock snuggled closer to him. They had only really done this once before but Sherlock had missed it.  
  
He really should have never let the other man go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure when like riding a bike came about but I used it any way.


	19. Promises

John woke up sometime later, it was pitch black in the bedroom. He yawned and stretched out to find Sherlock was no longer in bed. His heart sank into his stomach.  
  
That was no good because was seriously concerned that he was making things up. The whole night had been some type of dream. An amazing one but still, a dream. The night had been a whirlwind of action and drama and love. Although he was happy to be with Sherlock, he really should have talked to him first to get everything out. Maybe it would have made things more concrete.  
  
He did not really want to put clothes on so he was thankful to find a dressing gown hung on the back of Sherlock’s door. It was a bit long on him but John didn’t care because the only thing on his mind was a tall madman. If he was not in the flat he was certainly going to worry about his sanity.  
  
Thankfully, in the kitchen Sherlock was sitting at the table eating fish and chips fully dressed in a suit. John let out a sigh of relief.  
  
“Where did you get that?” He asked, realizing it was well passed midnight.  
  
“I know a place that’s open all night. The owner there let’s me eat free, he owes me. It’s rather good, I’ll take you there one night after a case.” Sherlock gestured to the food, “Would you like some?”  
  
John shrugged because he wasn’t very hungry but took a few chips from the greasy paper.  
  
“Thank you. I was worried you ran out on me or I dreamt up our night because it was rather unbelievable.”  
  
“No, I was starving. I’m always starving after cases and then we had sex, it made it worse. I woke up to my stomach growling.”  
  
“Because you don’t eat.” John sat next to Sherlock.  
  
“I eat.”  
  
“So, this is what it would have been like for five years? You running off, getting into trouble, and then me coming into save the day. After we would have sex then you eat a whole dinner for two in one sitting.” He smiled, watching Sherlock lick the salt off of his fingers like a little boy. “I made a big mistake not doing this with you right away. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Shall we lie back down? You look tired.”  
  
“If you want,” John would have been content sitting these until the sun came up.  
  
“Let’s. I like doing this lying down thing with you. You didn’t do that enough in the war.”  
  
“We didn’t have much of an opportunity then, did we?”  
  
“No, we didn’t and we also have a lot of time to make up for so let’s go.” Sherlock got up to bin the greasy paper.  
  
“I don’t think I can… again… tonight. I’m too tired.”  
  
“I wasn’t asking for sex.” He took John’s hand and tugged him up.  
  
They went back into Sherlock’s room and settled into the bed, after Sherlock stripped down to his pants and John hung the robe back up.  
  
“I really am sorry I messed this up. I wish I had more… confidence in myself and us back then.”  
  
“Your apologies are getting very tiring. Not to say I don’t appreciate knowing that your regret the whole thing and are sorry but you’ve said it enough.” Sherlock draped an arm and a leg over John.   
  
“I understand why you broke it off with me and clearly you regret it. I never saw myself falling for anyone else so I never did. I never tried because I thought it was pointless. But when you walked back in the other day I knew that I wanted you back. I shouldn’t have walked out that day when I came to see you. I should have sat there until you realized you were just being stupid.”  
  
“Did you think about me over the years?”  
  
“More than I care to admit.”  
  
“I won’t leave you again, I promise.”  
  
“No promises.” He nuzzled John’s neck.  
  
“You promised me that I wouldn’t lose an arm or die and I didn’t.” John rubbed Sherlock’s back.  
  
“That is very true.”  
  
“So, let me promise you this.”  
  
Sherlock hummed, “I’ll trust you. You trusted me to… sew you up.”  
  
“Good and it worked out very well. Well, it took a while to work out completely but it did.” John took a deep breath, “I don’t know if I will ever get over this happening.”  
  
“Just be happy about it and enjoy it.” The other man kissed John’s cheek.  
  
“That’s a brilliant idea.” John wrapped his arms around Sherlock who was yawning.  
  
“You should sleep.”  
  
“You as well.”  
  
“I’ll be here in the morning.”  
  
“And we’ll get you all moved in this week. I’m sure it won’t take too much time.”  
  
“Of course, Sherlock. Goodnight.”  
  
“Goodnight.”  
  
They were quiet for a few minutes, he listened to Sherlock’s even breathing. It was the most comforting sound.   
  
John thought Sherlock had fallen asleep but then the detective shifted and said, “I never told you my pirate name.”  
  
“What?” John made a face.  
  
“When we were stuck on the boat to Normandy. I told you I wanted to be a pirate as a child.”  
  
“I forgot about that, yeah.”  
  
“You wanted to know the name and you never did.”  
  
John grinned, “What is it?”  
  
“I was Blackbeard and my dog was Redbeard.”  
  
“That is adorable.” John was practically giggling like a school girl.  
  
“Now that you know that, you cannot speak of it. I just felt as if it was a loose end that needed tying.”  
  
“You could have never told me and I wouldn’t have even remembered,” John smiled thinking of Sherlock as a child, running about with a fake sword and a tri-cornered hat.  
  
“You wrote about it in your journals. You’d look back one day and remember.” Sherlock sighed. “Now let’s go to sleep.”  
  
“Yes, we don’t have to talk about or tell each other everything tonight. We’ve got the rest of time.”  
  
Sherlock agreed and eventually they both drifted off.

***

In the morning John woke up, still amazed that Sherlock was right by his side in the bed.  
  
Following some snogging John forced Sherlock out of bed so that could have breakfast. It was perfectly domestic and it felt like they had been doing this for years. He found himself kicking himself because it was his fault. He was going to have to stop doing that because it was going to make him insane because their whole life was going to have a five year gap no matter what.  
  
They settled on to the settee after breakfast with a cup of tea and Sherlock was reading the morning paper.  
  
“Do you still play the violin?” John asked, looking through the stack of books that were by where they were sitting.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Do you still have the one from Ghent?”  
  
“Yes, that’s the one I normally play even though I’ve recently bought a new one.”  
  
“I see.” John picked up a book on crime in Victorian London. “Tell me how you got here, you didn’t really get into it before. It was just a very quick over view.”  
  
“What I told you was really it. I didn’t do much in the last few years aside from working on cases or experiments before happening upon a crime scene with Lestrade and Dimmock.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“How do you afford your degree? I’m sure you have help from the army but not enough.”  
  
John swallowed hard, “Your father—”  
  
“My father!” Sherlock bellowed.  
  
“Calm down, Sherlock.” John laughed. “I got a letter from him thanking me for helping you through the war and keeping you alive. He wanted to repay me and you had mentioned in passing that I wanted to be a doctor. I refused at first because I thought it was just nonsense. Then he insisted that I take the money and not waste my passion.”  
  
“I can’t believe him.”  
  
“Does he know that we’re…”  
  
“No but I’m sure Mycroft knows that we’re moving in together by now. Since father retired following the war my brother has taken over the spying in full force. You’d think he’d stay out of my life and focus on the Communist.”  
  
John laughed, “They care about you.”  
  
“Don’t think we’ll be doing family dinners with them. I refuse.”  
  
“I wouldn’t think to ask.” John assured him.  
  
“You don’t mind that they know?”  
  
“If they don’t hate you or I for it, no. Or judge us for some reason.”  
  
“They won’t. They’re so understanding that it’s sickening.”  
  
John snickered, “I would like to meet your father though. Just to thank him.”  
  
“That will be a cold day in hell.” He pouted with his arms folded.  
  
“Fine, I’ll just write him.”  
  
“Do what you must.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
After a beat, “Do you think that we’ll survive in the real world because you didn’t before?”  
  
“I was just being a prat. The only thing I worry about is people finding out about us.”  
  
“They won’t have to. I’m not going to song you in public, I know you’d never stand for that. Even if we were generally accepted I don’t think you’d stand for that type of display of affection in front of others. No one will be wise to what we do behind closed doors. We’ll just be flat mates to the rest of London.”  
  
John smiled, “That sounds good.”  
  
“You can trust me, John. I’ll make sure no one has the slightest idea.” Sherlock reach across the settee and tossed the book aside.  
  
“What?” He chuckled, looking at the other man, who was looking positively devilish. “Another shag? We have all our lives ahead of us, shouldn’t I be moving in?”  
  
“Are you really complaining that I want you?” Sherlock scooted closer.  
  
“No, I really shouldn’t be because I never thought I’d be sitting here with you a week ago.” John brushed his fingers through Sherlock hair. “But after will you help me move my things?”  
  
“Obviously,” He kissed John soundly.


	20. Coda

Six months later and John and Sherlock were still living in 221B together. It wasn’t all domestic bliss because they had rows about all the ridiculous things that Sherlock got up to with his experiments and how the man didn’t take care of himself well enough. But it was just what John expected and wanted.  
  
“Must we go sit through drinks? We lived with them for a year and I see two of them far too much.” Sherlock complained as John took four pint glasses. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t have one.  
  
“We haven’t seen Bill in ages and I enjoy having drinks with Dim and Greg. You never go out with us then, you only see them if you’re working on a case for one or both of them.”  
  
Sherlock scoffed as the door bell rang. Of course Mrs Hudson answered the door then yelled up about not being their housekeeper.  
  
“What if I told you I had a case?” He questioned, moving a bit closer to John at the fridge.  
  
“You do not have a case.” John pulled out the lager, stepping away from Sherlock. He just needed to keep his distance because being close to Sherlock tended to do funny things to his brain.  
  
“Don’t tell me he’s trying to get out of seeing us.” Greg shook his head as he and the other men entered the flat.  
  
“He doesn’t believe me but I’m rather busy.” Sherlock pouted at John.  
  
“I know when you’re lying. Hello, lads, welcome.”  
  
“Oh please, you do not know.”  
  
“Do you know how much I wish I could pull rank in this relationship because it happens a lot?” He shook his head before hugging his mates.  
  
“I don’t doubt it. I can do it though.” Greg chuckled.  
  
“As if he listens to us.” Dim snickered, going for a glass of lager.  
  
“You’re all idiots. We’re no longer in the tank, there’s no real hierarchy. We’re not even at a crime scene because you have no authority over me.”  
  
“So you get to be a pompous git. You’re just putting it on for them. Why can’t you be nice like you are to me?” John shrugged.  
  
“I’m not commenting on that name calling.” Sherlock turned up his nose.  
  
“I know, I’m so horrid to you.” He pretended to frown.  
  
“So horrid he had to take five years off?” Dust raised an eyebrow.  
  
“That’s not very funny,” Sherlock went looking for the good whiskey he had nicked from his brother.  
  
“He’s just being a twat, Bill. I’m sure you remember how to ignore him when he’s in a strop. So, what have you been up to?”  
  
“Three kids. Happy wife. He works in construction. Leading the life he wanted before the war. Boring.” Sherlock rambled off. “For Bill, yes John and I have reconciled after years of him being obtuse. He’s very much on his way to securing a medical degree. In his free time he frets about people talking about us and me eating. Oh, and he helps with cases I consult with. I am a Consulting Detective. This two idiots are some how employed at Scotland Yard as Detective Inspectors, and I solve most of their cases.”  
  
“Maybe I should have let you go out.” John just rolled his eyes.  
  
“Consulting Detective, what’s that?”  
  
Sherlock grinned, “John get the case book.”  
  
“Get it yourself,” He took a seat at the table and the other men joined, leaving Sherlock to stomp his way out to their room.  
  
“When he’s not being a ponce, is he treating you well?” Bill asked.  
  
“We get on better than we did in the tank. He’s just putting this on.” John said honestly. Yes, they had their rows about ears in the fridge and eyeballs on the counter but he would never trade it for anything in the world because when Sherlock and he were alone, the rest of the world didn’t exist. “I was a bloody idiot for leaving him.”  
  
“Obviously,” Sherlock dropped the casebook on the table that he and John had been compiling. “Now, enough with the small talk, let’s talk about our cases, John.” He insinuated himself onto John’s chair so they were sharing it.  
  
“Lucky you’re a string bean.” The soon to be doctor poked at Sherlock’s side.  
  
The night went on, Sherlock explained his career and Bill was very intrigued. They did talk about other things, how their lives went over the years and of course Sherlock hated that bit. They also talked about the past, Sherlock kept quiet during their reminiscing of life in the tank. John hoped that he was ok with it because he knew Sherlock never liked talking about fighting in the war.  
  
When the men left Sherlock collapsed on to the settee with a loud groan, “Painful catching up with the lads, love?”  
  
“You’re very lucky that I love you.” Sherlock turned his head so it was rest on his arms.  
  
“I love you as well. Bill said he can’t believe that we’re together.”  
  
“Sometimes I can’t believe it either.”  
  
John knelt down next to the couch, “I’m so happy I found you again.” He pressed a kiss onto Sherlock’s forehead.  
  
Sherlock smiled, “You didn’t find me. Stamford thought he was introducing us.”  
  
“Of all the bloody people in London, I end up getting reintroduced to Sherlock bloody Holmes.”  
  
“Well—“  
  
“No, I know that look, don’t go off on a tangent on the statics and all that.” He chuckled. “I’m just saying, you don’t need to remind me that it was always a possibility. I know you never thought that it would happen.”  
  
“You should be studying, shouldn’t you?” That was Sherlock’s way to avoid John being right, always change the subject.  
  
“Will you help me?” John stood up from the floor.  
  
“Of course.” Sherlock bounced off the couch.  
  
“Stop being so graceful.” He led Sherlock into the kitchen.  
  
“Never.” Sherlock pulled his arm and gathered him into a hug.  
  
“Hello, there.” He was surprised by Sherlock.  
  
“Seeing them all together just reminded me of being in the tank.”  
  
“Me as well but we’re not there anymore. We’re in London. In a nice flat. And you show me the underbelly of the city. Yes, we do get shot at but only time to time and no criminal we ever have gone after was a sodding sniper.” John kissed him.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Now, let’s get on with our mostly boring lives, love.”  
  
“Let’s.” Sherlock let go of him and reached for his notes, “I’ll quiz you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done! Thanks for reading.
> 
> I am planning on writing 4 more parts (a prequel, sequels, and a missing scene) so I'll be making this a series if you're interested into subscribing to that. But for now I'm working on matchmaker au.


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